UNIVERSITY  OF 
ILLINOIS  LIBRARY 
AT  URBANA-CHAiVIPAIGN 
BOOKSTACKS 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2020  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/myyearsofexilere00bern_0 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  SOCIALIST 


<ou 


^C/ty***  ' 

**£c*~&*u*S£  <rgt4*'t’“'Xki  c7y 

'4T^ 

--yfx  <3.  Jy^c'x^s  ^  --/ y 

£Ju.  JVft^w,7<l4Jv 

-£2-£-f  ^  C'-*J  '  ■ 

. -V  ■ 


yp  % 

,  ^  /  >v^  jfCLjfriA-  f 

i  ♦ 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  SOCIALIST 


BY 

EDUARD  BERNSTEIN 


TRANSLATED  BY 

BERNARD  MI  ALL 


/ 

NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE 


1921 


* 


\ 


ft 


t 


// 


B. 

ibs~mM£ 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


I 


AT  the  request  of  the  editor  of  the  Weisse  Blatter, 
Rene  Schickele,  I  decided,  in  the  late  autumn 
of  1915,  to  place  on  record  a  few  reminiscences 
of  my  years  of  wandering  and  exile.  These  reminiscences 
made  their  first  appearance  in  the  above  periodical,  and 
now,  with  the  kind  permission  of  the  editor,  for  which 
I  take  this  opportunity  of  expressing  my  sincere  thanks, 
I  offer  them  in  volume  form  to  the  reading  public,  with 
a  few  supplementary  remarks  and  editorial  revisions. 
My  principal  thought,  in  writing  these  chapters,  as  I 
remarked  at  the  time  of  their  first  appearance,  and 
repeat  to-day,  was  to  record  my  impressions  of  the 
peoples  whose  countries  have  given  me  a  temporary 
refuge.  At  the  same  time  I  have  also  made  passing 
allusion  to  the  circumstances  which  caused  me  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  these  peoples  and  countries.  And, 
further,  it  seemed  to  me  not  amiss  to  add,  from  time  to 
time,  and  by  the  way,  a  few  touches  of  self-portraiture. 
For  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  produce  a  learned  or 
instructive  volume  which  should  possess  an  objective 
value,  but  have  only  sought  to  give  utterance  to  personal 
impressions  and  experiences,  and,  for  good  or  ill,  to  tell 
something  of  the  character  of  the  writer.  Reminiscences 
are  fragments  of  our  lives,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  relate 
incidents  which  are  closely  connected  with  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  one’s  own  character  without  reference  to  the 
latter. 


5 


6 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


z  LO'**-'2'  ri  \? 
4MJL45C+4** 

t/^ 

*</_  7  T  2.£ 
lU/oA  *~ 


These  reminiscences  begin  with  the  journey  which  in 
1878  led  to  my  leaving  my  country  for  over  twenty  years. 
The  first  pages  tell  of  a  journey  made  by  many,  which 
was  not  accompanied  by  any  events  that  could  of  them¬ 
selves  excite  the  reader’s  interest.  My  justification  for 
speaking  of  it  resides,  I  think,  in  the  fact  that  the  most 
important  part  of  this  journey  to  the  South  was  made  in 
a  fashion  unknown  to  the  present  generation.  It  made 
a  very  deep  impression  on  me,  which  fives  in  my  memory 
even  to-day,  and  I  can  only  hope  that  I  have  succeeded 
in  conveying  something  of  this  impression  to  my 
reader. 


NOTE  TO  THE  ENGLISH  EDITION 


I  must  ask  my  English  and  American  readers  to 
remember  that  the  chapters  of  this  book  were  written 
and  first  published,  as  was  the  book  itself,  during  the 
war,  when  the  military  censorship  was  in  force  and 
national  prejudices  and  worse  were  running  very  high. 


L<MX A  *~ 


ED.  B. 


Berlin  Schoneberg,  September  1920. 


f 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  Across  the  St.  Gotthard  in  1878  .  .  9 

/ 

II.  In  and  about  Lugano  Thirty  Years  ago  .  28 

III.  A  Bitter  Winter  in  Lugano  .  .  *54 

IV.  In  Zurich  .  .  .  .  .69 

V.  Life  and  Work  in  Zurich  .  .  •  91 

VI.  Secret  Congresses  and  Banishment  from 

Switzerland  .  .  .  .124 

VII.  Visits  to,  and  Exile  in,  London  .  *150 

.  •»  *  .  ,*a 

r  ,  V  > 

VIII.  London  Peculiarities  and  English  Char¬ 
acteristics  .  .  .  -i74 

IX.  Engels’  House  and  his  “Evenings”  .  .196 

X.  The  Socialist  Intellectuals  in  England  .  221 

XI.  The  Life  of  the  People,  and  the  Prole¬ 
tarian  Socialist  in  England  .  .  250 

Index  ......  283 


7 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


CHAPTER  I 

ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878 

IN  the  late  summer  of  1878  Karl  Hochberg — since 
deceased  —  inquired  whether  I  should  care  to 
accompany  him  on  his  travels  as  secretary  on  the 
staff  of  the  Socialist  periodical,  Die  Zuknnft ,  of  which  he 
was  then  the  publisher.  It  was  an  enticing  offer  for  one 
who,  like  myself,  had  done  very  little  travelling,  and 
except  for  a  visit  to  Vienna,  in  the  summer  of  1872,  had 
so  far  seen  nothing  of  foreign  countries.  So  I  set 
aside  the  material  considerations  which  might  have 
deterred  me  :  the  danger  of  giving  up  a  safe,  and— in 
respect  of  my  requirements — a  sufficiently  well-paid  post 
in  a  bank  in  exchange  for  a  position  which  would  prob¬ 
ably  be  only  a  temporary  one  ;  and  I  accepted.  Hoch¬ 
berg,  who  was  compelled,  owing  to  a  chronic  affection  of 
the  lungs,  to  seek  a  warmer  climate,  wrote  to  me  saying 
that  he  was  going  in  the  first  place  to  Lugano,  and  that 
he  would  expect  me  there.  My  knowledge  of  the 
beautiful  city  on  the  banks  of  the  Ceresio  was  at  that 
time  extremely  slight.  But  the  mere  sound  of  the  word 
had  a  magical  effect  upon  me,  and  I  joyfully  set  forth, 
on  the  12th  October  1878,  on  the  journey  which  was  to 
take  me  for  the  first  time  into  Switzerland.  But  I  had 
no  foreboding  that  this  journey  was  also  to  exile  me 
from  my  native  country,  and  the  city  of  my  birth, 
Berlin,  for  more  than  twenty  years. 


10 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


The  journey  to  Basle  occupied  two  nights  and  a 
day  ;  the  day  I  spent  in  Frankfort-on- the-Main,  in  order 
to  visit,  at  Hochberg’s  wish,  his  family  and  two  of  his 
friends.  One  of  these  friends — who  died  only  recently 
— was  well  known,  as  a  sociologist  and  politician, 
to  the  people’s  party;  this  was  Dr.  Karl  Fleschwa 
town  councillor,  a  deputy  to  the  Landtag,  and  a  newly 
fledged  barrister  :  the  other  was  G.  Schnapper-Arndt,  a 
man  of  letters,  whose  knowledge  of  social  politics  was 
the  fruit  of  a  mass  of  valuable  research  work.  My  visit 
to  Frankfort  was  made  as  pleasant  as  could  be  by  these 
two  gentlemen,  as  well  as  by  Hochberg’s  family — which 
did  not  prevent  my  passing  the  second  night  of  my 
journey,  as  well  as  the  first,  absolutely  without  sleep. 
But  I  slept  on  the  third  night. 

On  the  morning  of  the  14th  October  we  came  to 
Basle,  and  thence  we  proceeded  by  way  of  Olten  to 
Lucerne.  From  Lucerne  we  had  to  take  the  boat  to 
Fluelen,  and  thence  we  set  forth  by  diligence  over  the 
St.  Gotthard  Pass,  for  the  St.  Gotthard  Railway  was  then 
only  in  course  of  construction.  Fortunately  so,  I  may 
say,  for  I  had  to  thank  this  circumstance  for  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  memories  of  my  life. 

My  first  impression  of  Switzerland,  obtained  through 
the  window  of  the  railway  carriage,  and  later  from  the 
deck  of  the  steamer,  was  something  of  a  disillusion.  The 
morning  was  cold,  wet,  and  misty,  and  the  lower  slopes 
of  the  Alps,  through  which  we  were  then  travelling, 
— and  which  since  then,  with  their  wealth  of  alluring 
and  constantly  changing  landscapes,  have  become,  for 
me,  an  ever-renewed  source  of  rapturous  delight, — by  no 
means  came  up  to  the  conceptions  of  the  Swiss  mountains 
which  my  imagination  had  painted  for  me.  So  far  my 
eye  was  completely  unable  to  form  an  estimate  of 
mountain  and  valley,  and  because  the  apparent  height 
of  the  mountains  did  not  correspond  with  my  anticipa- 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  11 


tions,  the  beauties  of  their  wooded  slopes,  and  the  charm 
of  their  surrounding  plains  and  meadows,  escaped  me. 
Consequently  the  Rigi  and  even  Pilatus  fell  short  of  my 
expectations,  and  my  disillusion  was  of  course  in¬ 
creased  by  the  fact  that  the  highest  peaks  of  these 
mountains  were  hidden  in  cloud.  Owing  to  the  dullness 
of  the  day  even  the  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons  was  not 
seen  all  at  once  in  its  full  beauty.  But  when  we  had 
left  Beckenried  and  Gersau  behind  us  the  weather 
suddenly  cleared,  and  near  Brunnen,  as  the  steamer 
entered  the  last  limb  of  the  lake — the  Urner  section — the 
lake  was  suddenly  unrolled  before  me,  shining  with  the 
most  wonderful  blue,  and  surrounded  by  the  ever- 
aspiring  mountains,  with  the  mighty  Uri-Rotstock  and 
the  Bristenstock  in  the  background.  So  enchanting  was 
the  picture  that  only  one  thing  was  lacking  to  raise 
the  exaltation  that  took  possession  of  me  to  the  highest 
conceivable  degree  :  the  sympathetic  human  soul 
beside  me,  to  whom  I  could  have  expressed  all  that 
filled  my  mind  and  struggled  for  release.  Although 
the  vessel  was  well  filled  with  passengers  I  had  not  made 
any  close  acquaintance  among  them,  which  was  less 
their  fault  than  mine,  and  on  my  part  it  was  assuredly 
due  less  to  any  lack  of  goodwill  than  to  a  lack  of  social 
dexterity.  To  strike  up  a  conversation  with  a  fellow- 
traveller,  or  for  that  matter  with  any  stranger,  is  to 
me  almost  always  a  matter  of  insuperable  difficulty. 
And  in  those  days  especially  I  belonged  to  that  category 
of  travellers  which  I  am  to-day  in  the  habit  of  calling  the 
passive  category. 

I  am  not  aware  whether  any  one  has  anticipated  me 
in  making  this  division,  but  at  the  risk  of  repeating 
what  has  already  been  said  I  should  like  here  in  passing 
to  remark  that  of  all  the  many  classes  of  travellers  two 
in  particular  may  be  sharply  distinguished  :  they  are, 
the  active  travellers  and  the  passive  travellers.  The 


12 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


first  are  the  true  artists  of  travel :  they  know  every¬ 
thing  worth  knowing  about  the  journey  they  are  about 
to  make,  and  they  see  everything  that  repays  a  glance. 
They  find  their  way  about  everywhere  and  at  all  times, 
as  easily  as  possible,  and  they  contrive  to  manage  their 
fellow-travellers  as  it  suits  their  wishes  or  their  needs. 
Very  different  is  the  class  of  those  whom  I  call  the 
passive  travellers,  because  they  allow  themselves  to  be 
dispatched  rather  than  travel  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word.  At  best  they  know  only  the  most  necessary 
things,  which  one  must  know  if  one  isn’t  to  get  com¬ 
pletely  lost,  and  they  see  only  that  which  pushes  itself, 
so  to  speak,  right  in  front  of  them.  In  such  matters  as 
securing  seats,  in  carriage  or  coach,  choosing  the  right 
hotel,  getting  the  right  room,  etc.,  they  rely  more  or  less 
upon  hazard,  and  if  it  comes  to  a  question  of  give  and 
take  between  them  and  their  fellow-travellers,  they  are 
the  givers. 

When  Mother  Nature  so  created  me  that  I  belong 
to  the  second  category  of  travellers  rather  than  to  the 
first,  she  also  gave  me,  in  compensation,  a  higher  degree 
of  susceptibility  than  that  which  the  average  person 
is  blessed  with,  and  as  makeweight  the  cognate  dis¬ 
position  to  reconcile  myself  readily  with  any  situation. 
This  last  is  an  attribute  which  from  the  general  point 
of  view  cannot  be  called  a  virtue.  For  if  it  were  innate 
in  all  of  us  it  would  go  ill  with  social  and  cultural  pro¬ 
gress.  The  gift  of  susceptibility,  however,  is  a  gift  that 


hurts  no  one,  but  helps  one  over  many  a  blunder. 

As  I  had  applied  in  Fluelen  for  a  voucher  for  the 
journey  over  the  St.  Gotthard  Pass,  and  had  left  it  to 
the  mail  contractor  to  allot  me  a  place,  Fate  had  been 
very  kind  to  me.  Like  most  of  the  mountain  diligences, 
the  old  Gotthard  diligence  had  three  sorts  or  classes 
of  sitting  accommodation.  The  dearest  of  these  was 
the  “  Imperial,”  a  seat  above  or  behind  the  coach 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  13 


proper,  which  allowed  the  traveller  a  full  view  of  the 
landscape  through  which  he  was  travelling.  Next  in 
rank  and  price  was  the  “  coupe,”  three  seats  under 
the  driver,  with  a  limited  but  still  extensive  outlook 
forwards.  The  cheapest  or  “  interior  ”  places  were 
the  seats  inside  the  coach,  from  which  the  traveller 
could  at  best  see  a  portion  of  the  landscape,  but  never 
a  full  view  of  it.  In  order  to  save  money  I  had  taken  an 
“  interior,”  but  was  given  a  place  in  the  “  extra  coach,” 
which  was  nothing  more  than  an  open  carriage  with  four 
seats,  which  were  perhaps  not  quite  so  soft  as  the  seats 
of  the  “  Imperial,”  but  if  possible  afforded  an  even 
better  view.  So  I  was  able  to  enjoy  the  journey  across 
the  St.  Gotthard  to  the  full. 

And  what  a  journey  it  was  !  First  of  all  came  the 
wonderful  Reussthal  with  its  luxuriant  vegetation. 
As  on  the  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons  memories  of 
Schiller’s  Tell  had  been  awakened  by  the  Riitli  and  the 
Tellsplatte,  so  here,  as  we  passed,  behind  Fliielen,  the 
old  market-town  of  Altdorf,  the  place  of  the  legendary 
shooting  of  the  apple,  it  was  impossible  not  to  think 
of  the  great  poet,  who  had  sung  of  this  neighbourhood 
to  such  wonderful  effect,  although  he  had  never  seen  it. 
What  a  power  over  the  emotions  had  the  legend  to  which 
he  had  given  enduring  life,  and  how  completely  the 
heart  failed  to  respond  to  the  historical  truth,  established 
by  careful  research  !  We  ought  sorely  to  lament  this 
victory  of  the  glorified  legend  over  the  unveiled  truth, 
were  it  not  at  the  same  time  a  victory  of  the  struggle  to 
preserve  the  ideals  which  uplift  us  above  the  littleness  and 
the  doubts  of  every  day.  The  men  of  the  Four  Cantons 
who  revolted  against  the  government  of  the  Haps- 
burgs  may  in  reality  have  been  ignorant  stock-farmers, 
who,  historically  considered,  in  comparison  with  that 
Government,  were  reactionaries ;  yet  their  fight  was  none 
the  less  a  fight  for  right,  and,  as  such,  is  worthy  of 


14 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


commemoration.  Men  see  in  Wilhelm  Tell  the  ideal 
avenger  of  an  oppressed  people,  and  it  is  well  for  them 
that  they  refuse  to  allow  him  to  be  taken  from  them. 

Such  reflections  thronged  into  my  mind  at  the  sight 
of  the  pictures  on  the  house-fronts  which  one  sees  on 
driving  through  Altdorf,  many  of  which  depict  in¬ 
cidents  of  the  struggle  of  the  Four  Cantons.  The 
inscriptions  on  the  shops  and  inns,  on  the  other  hand, 
told  us  that  it  was  the  proletarian  children  of  Italy 
who  were  building  the  St.  Gotthard  Railway,  which  was 
then  under  construction.  There  was  hardly  one  of 
these  inscriptions  that  had  not  the  Italian  version 
under  the  German.  From  the  main  highway  the  coach 
road  climbed  upwards  in  innumerable  windings,  continu¬ 
ally  crossing  the  Reuss  on  stone  bridges,  so  that  the 
traveller  had  the  river  now  on  his  right  hand,  now  on 
his  left,  but  always  deep  below  him,  where  it  made  its 
way  onward,  foaming  and  roaring,  over  a  bed  full  of 
blocks  of  stone  of  every  size.  The  weather  was  glorious  ; 
it  was  a  clear  autumn  day,  the  air  cool  but  not  cold,  so 
that  all  the  men  of  the  party  (for  women  such  behaviour 
was  not  at  that  time  considered  seemly)  left  their  seats 
and  proceeded  to  climb  upwards  by  the  short  cuts  or 
connecting  paths,  which  shortened  the  distance  so 
greatly  that  one  could  keep  well  ahead  of  the  diligence 
without  making  any  extraordinary  effort.  When  the 
road  became  more  level  and  the  post-horses  were  in 
consequence  able  to  gallop  we  resumed  our  seats,  only 
to  leave  them  again  when  we  came  to  a  fresh  rise,  to 
repeat  the  former  process.  These  intervals  of  actual 
climbing  were  the  best  parts  of  the  journey. 

On  either  side,  continually  assuming  fresh  forms, 
were  the  mighty,  upward-shouldering  mountains,  still 
wooded  here  and  there  ;  above  was  the  cloudless  vault 
of  heaven  ;  by  the  wayside  was  the  lovely  Alpine 
vegetation ;  and  below  us,  framed  in  luxuriously  over- 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  187S  15 


grown  banks,  was  the  roaring  Reuss.  The  buoyant  air 
was  faintly  aromatic.  All  this  together  worked  like 
magic  on  the  emotions.  The  fairy-tales  which  one 
reads  in  childhood  rose  to  one’s  mind  ;  one  found  one’s 
self  in  the  world  which  they  described;  the  stillness 
all  around — for  I  kept,  for  the  most  part,  at  a  respectful 
distance  from  the  other  travellers — gave  rise  to  a  mood 
which  realised  the  words  of  the  poet,  false  as  a  matter 
of  natural  history,  yet  containing  so  much  truth  from 
the  standpoint  of  human  history  : 

“  The  world  is  perfect  everywhere 
Where  man  is  not  with  his  pain  and  care.” 

The  evening  fell  much  too  early,  compelling  us  to 
travel  uninterruptedly  by  coach.  As  we  drove  through 
Goschenen  we  saw  at  a  short  distance  above  us  what 
looked  like  moving  glow-worms.  The  Italian  work¬ 
men  employed  on  the  construction  of  the  tunnel  were 
seeking  their  quarters  with  their  little  hand-lanterns. 
In  other  ways  too  we  realised,  although  our  eyes, 
strain  them  as  we  would,  could  make  out  very  little 
of  it,  that  here  one  of  the  marvels  of  human  achieve¬ 
ment  was  in  process  of  construction.  A  young  Swiss 
engineer,  employed  by  the  Gotthard  Railway  Company, 
who  had  hitherto  travelled  with  us,  told  us  that  difficult 
as  were  the  problems  which  the  building  of  the  great 
tunnel  set  the  engineering  experts,  those  which  had  to 
be  solved  in  the  construction  of  the  track  leading  thither 
surpassed  them  in  the  demands  which  they  made  upon 
the  staff,  and  indeed  to-day  the  mysterious  corkscrew 
tunnels  and  loops  impress  the  initiated  more  deeply 
than  the  long  stretch  of  line  leading  under  the  old 
giant.  In  this  connection  we  must  not  forget  the 
splendid  performances  of  the  instruments  of  precision, 
and  their  utilisation,  thanks  to  which  the  boring  gangs, 
progressing  simultaneously  from  the  north  and  the 


16 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


south,  in  strict  conformity  with  the  plans,  met  accur¬ 
ately  in  the  middle  of  the  tunnel  at  the  appointed  time. 

In  complete  darkness  we  drove  through  the  most 
magnificent  portion  of  the  St.  Gotthard  road,  known  as 
the  Schollenen,  where  the  highway  narrows  to  a  narrow 
pass  enclosed  by  gigantic  and  precipitous  cliffs  of 
granite.  Here  the  Reuss  roars  with  a  deeper,  fiercer 
voice,  and  only  a  few  isolated  trees  still  struggle  up 
the  massive  rock.  Here,  as  at  the  Devil’s  Bridge  and 
the  Urner  Loch,  we  drove  past  without  seeing  anything 
more  than  a  dim  outline  which  scarcely  enabled  us  to 
divine  what  it  concealed,  and  at  last,  at  ten  o’clock, 
arrived  in  Andermatt,  where,  after  supper,  I  soon  retired 
to  my  bedroom,  for  I  now  felt  thoroughly  tired  out. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  somewhere 
below  me  a  terrific  uproar  was  going  on.  But  the  noise 
had  no  human  origin.  When  I  looked  into  the  question 
of  its  cause  I  found  that  close  to  the  inn  and  just  under 
my  window  the  Reuss  tumbled  over  the  rocks  in  quite 
a  respectable  waterfall.  As  it  was  then  nine  o’clock 
I  had  slept  eleven  hours  without  in  the  least  noticing 
this  noise.  My  nerves  had  demanded  tribute  for  two 
sleepless  nights  on  the  railway,  for  I  was  already  past 
the  age  at  which  one  enjoys  a  good  thing  under  any 
circumstances.  But  I  have  noticed  that,  even  at  my 
age,  unless  bodily  suffering,  chronic  neurasthenia,  or 
tormenting  anxieties  rob  us  of  sleep,  one  need  not  be 
greatly  excited  to  induce  Morpheus  to  take  a  night  off. 
But  he  gives  in  on  the  second  or  third  night,  although 
not  always  under  such  pleasant  circumstances  as  on 
this  day  in  Andermatt. 

Downstairs  in  the  dining-room  I  found  I  had  missed 
nothing.  The  diligence  started  at  one  o’clock,  and 
the  passengers  had  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  meantime. 

I  myself  followed  suit  as  soon  as  I  had  breakfasted, 
and  turned  back  along  the  road  by  which  we  had 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  17 


travelled  in  the  darkness,  whereby  I  unfortunately 
but  unavoidably  had  to  take  in  the  unfolding  of  the 
pass,  as  described  by  Schiller,  backwards.  First  came 
the  “  smiling  regions  ”  of  the  Ursenertal,  here  spreading 
to  a  width  of  two-thirds  of  a  mile  : 

"  The  smiling  land  where  spring  and  autumn  wed.” 

Smiling  indeed  it  lay  before  me  in  the  freshness  of 
morning,  surrounded  by  the  last  heights  of  the  giant 
mountains,  watered  by  the  hurrying,  green,  foaming 
Reuss,  overgrown  with  the  grasses  and  flowers  of  the 
Alpine  world,  and  inhabited  by  grazing  cattle,  the 
sound  of  whose  bells,  unmusical  as  it  is,  yet  acquires  a 
charm  of  its  own  from  the  circumstances  and  surround¬ 
ings.  The  Urner  Loch  was  disappointing.  Even  for 
the  untravelled  it  had  nothing  of  the  black  rocky  gate¬ 
way  which 

“  No  day  has  yet  illumed.” 

And  rather  than  “  in  the  kingdom  of  the  shadows,” 
one  might  have  thought  oneself  in  the  Saxon  Switzerland, 
whose  rocky  gateway,  known  as  the  “  Cowshed,”  will 
well  bear  comparison  with  this  old  tunnel.  But  the 
Devil’s  Bridge  and  the  Schollenen,  on  the  contrary, 
more  than  justified  their  reputation  ;  they  were  beyond 
description.  Seen  inland  from  the  wide  and  mag¬ 
nificent  St.  Gotthard  highway  they  awaken  only  wonder 
and  a  pleasant  horror.  But  if  one  looked  down  from 
the  old  pack-horse  track,  the  only  road  over  the 
Gotthard  in  Schiller’s  time,  and  imagined  the  travellers 
with  laden  pack-mules  passing  along  this  ancient  high¬ 
way,  one  realised  the  accuracy  of  the  lines  : 

“  O’er  the  abyss  goes  the  dizzy  way. 

It  runs  between  life  and  death  ; 

For  the  giants  bar  it,  the  lonely  way, 

With  a  deadly  threat  in  their  breath. 

If  thou  wouldst  not  the  lioness  vex  in  her  sleep, 

Thro’  the  pass  of  terror  in  silence  creep.” 

2 


18 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


On  this  narrow  track  the  oppressive  weight  of  the 
towering  granite  giants,  and  the  fierce  might  of  the 
Reuss,  playfully  casting  aside  all  human  opposition, 
and  driving  down,  as  though  lashing  onwards,  the 
rugged  masses  of  rock,  must  have  thrust  all  other 
feelings  into  the  background,  leaving  only  the  con¬ 
sciousness  of  danger,  and  we  understand  how  this 
mountain  pass  lived  in  the  memories  of  the  men  of 
former  centuries  only  as  the  “  road  of  terror.” 

In  Goethe’s  Travels  in  Switzerland,  1797 ,  we  read, 
where  he  describes  the  road  over  the  Gotthard,  how 
often  in  those  days  part  of  the  track  had  to  be  closed 
on  account  of  landslips.1 

1  I  cannot  refrain  from  subjoining  here  a  passage  from  Felix  Men¬ 
delssohn  -  Bartholdy’s  Letters  of  Travel,  which  I  first  came  upon 
since  the  above  was  penned.  It  is  taken  from  the  letter  written  at 
Fluelen,  on  the  10th  August  1831,  to  Mendelssohn’s  sister,  and  de¬ 
scribes  the  impression  which  the  famous  composer,  who  had  hitherto 
travelled  by  the  old  pass,  had  received  of  the  present  pass,  which 
was  then  new  : 

“  You  know  the  Gotthard  Pass  in  its  beauty  ;  one  loses  much  if 
one  travels  hither  from  above  instead  of  journeying  upwards  from  this 
place  ;  for  the  great  surprise  of  the  Umer  Loch  is  quite  lost,  and 
the  new  road,  which  is  reckoned  next  to  the  Simplon  route  for 
splendour  and  convenience,  has  done  away  with  the  effect  of  the 
Devil’s  Bridge,  while  beside  it  another,  newer,  much  bolder  and  larger 
span  has  been  constructed,  which  makes  the  old  bridge  quite  invisible  ; 
and  the  old  masonry  looks  much  wilder  and  more  romantic. 

“  But  if  one  loses  also  the  view  of  Andermatt,  and  if  the  new  Devil’s 
Bridge  is  less  poetical,  yet  one  travels  all  day  joyfully  downhill  on  the 
smoothest  of  highways,  positively  flying  past  the  landscape,  and 
instead  of  being  sprinkled  by  the  waterfall  and  imperilled  by  the 
wind  on  the  bridge,  as  formerly,  one  now  crosses  safely,  high  above  the 
stream  and  between  strong  masonry  parapets.” 

That  over  a  certain  section  of  the  pass  the  descent  does  not  permit 
the  charm  of  the  journey  to  be  realised  so  effectually  as  the  ascent 
is  undoubtedly  correct,  as  every  pedestrian  will  have  discovered 
for  himself.  I  had  the  same  experience  on  the  Via  Mala  as  Mendelssohn 
on  the  St.  Gotthard.  When  on  a  walking  tour  from  Chiavenna  across 
the  Splugen  I  tramped  through  the  Via  Mala  from  above  downwards, 
not  only  did  it  seem,  when  compared  with  the  majesty  of  the  Splugen 
Pass,  like  a  miniature  of  the  latter,  but  the  beauties  of  the  landscape, 
he  waterfalls,  etc.,  made  only  a  faint  impression  on  me.  As  for  the 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  19 


To-day  people  speak  of  avalanches  (Lawineri)  almost 
as  they  would  of  tamed  lionesses  ( Lowinnen ).  The 
tracks  above  whose  higher  portions  they  lie  in  wait 
serve  for  traffic  mostly  in  those  seasons  of  the  year 
when  the  avalanches  caused  by  the  breaking  loose  of 
masses  of  snow  occur  as  seldom  as  the  escape  of  lions 
from  menageries.  The  terrors  of  nature  are  conquered ; 
our  so-called  civilisation  prides  itself  on  the  fact,  and — 
altogether  outdoes  them.  We  must  go  back  tens  and 
tens  of  thousands  of  years  before  we  come  upon  catas¬ 
trophes  in  which  the  blindly  raging  elements  have 
accomplished  as  much  destruction  and  destroyed  as 
much  life  as  civilised  humanity  is  doing  in  the  catas¬ 
trophe  which  we  are  witnessing  as  contemporaries. 

Thoughts  of  another  nature  filled  my  mind  when 
on  the  15th  October  1878  I  wandered  along  the 
Schollenen.  Yet  even  there  an  inscription  reminded 
one  of  war  and  the  extermination  of  men  by  men.  It 
told  of  the  battle  between  the  Russians  and  the  French 
in  September  1799,  when  Suvoroff  carried  out  his  devas¬ 
tating  crossing  of  the  St.  Gotthard.  But  that  lay  three 
generations  behind  us.  Who  would  dream  nowadays 
of  a  battle  between  French  and  Russians  ?  Yet  in  the 
spring  of  1878  it  had  nearly  come  to  a  war  between 
England  and  Austria-Hungary  on  the  one  side,  and 
Russia  on  the'  other,  for  the  first-named  States  had 
mobilised  in  order  to  annul  the  concessions  which 
Russia  had  wrung  from  Turkey  in  concluding  the 
Peace  of  San  Stefano.  The  conflict  was  after  all  averted 
by  the  then  recently  held  Congress  of  Berlin  (June  to 
July  1878),  which  is  the  only  good  thing  that  can  be 
recorded  of  that  Congress.  But  the  summer  of  1878 

Devil’s  Bridge,  it  has  in  its  present  form  lost  only  the  one  effect  of 
a  romantic  ruin.  But  its  principal  effect,  the  impression  of  the 
tremendous  fall  of  the  Reuss  beneath  it,  has  in  my  opinion  gained  in 
beauty  what  it  has  lost  in  wildness. 


20 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


had  been  marked,  in  Germany,  by  the  attempts  of 
two  madmen — the  semi-anarchist  Max  Hodel  and  the 
crazy  Karl  Nobiling — on  the  life  of  Wilhelm  iv  which 
brought  to  a  head  a  terrible  baiting  of  the  Social  Demo¬ 
crats,  and  the  dissolution  of  the  Reichstag,  with  the 
result  of  the  numerical  and  moral  weakening  of  the 
Left  in  the  Reichstag ;  and  one  of  the  “  exceptional  laws  ” 
against  Social  Democracy,  introduced  by  the  Imperial 
Government,  had  already  received  a  majority  at  its 
second  reading  and  was  now  being  read  for  the  third 
time  before  acceptance.  How  far  would  the  party 
suffer  under  the  law  ?  Before  I  left  Berlin  we  had,  in 
a  secret  conference,  discussed  this  question,  and  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  circumstances  would 
compel  us  to  adopt,  for  the  time  being,  an  expectant 
attitude.  The  party’s  means  of  authority  were  still 
comparatively  modest ;  its  Press,  with  few  exceptions, 
was  not  in  anything  like  a  position  to  compete  with  the 
bourgeois  Press,  and  the  extreme  depression  of  trade, 
with  the  corresponding  unemployment,  had  every¬ 
where  reduced  the  strength  of  the  Labour  opposition. 
The  immediate  future  of  the  party  depended  on  the  form 
which  the  “  exceptional  law  ”  would  assume  in  the 
final  statute,  and  the  way  in  which  it  would  be  executed 
by  the  authorities.  Although  most  of  us  by  now 
had  some  suspicion  of  the  height  of  interpretative 
skill  which  the  Court  of  Appeal  would  display,  we  were 
yet  prepared  for  severe  blows;  so  that  the  party,  to 
which  I  was  devoted  heart  and  soul,  saw  threatening 
weather  ahead  of  it.  As  I  wandered  on  beside  the 
Schollenen  all  this  passed  once  again  through  my  mind, 
and  I  was  oppressed  by  distressing  thoughts. 

Fortunately  I  was  considerably  younger  than  my 
years  in  the  matter  of  temperament,  as  I  was  in  experi¬ 
ence  of  life.  These  melancholy  reflections  vanished  as 
I  stood  once  more,  on  the  way  back,  before  the  Devil’s 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  21 


Bridge,  where,  lit  by  the  sun,  now  fairly  high  in  the 
heavens,  the  rising  particles  of  spray  came  boiling 
up  from  the  gorge  of  the  downward-tumbling  Reuss, 
ghttering  like  innumerable  diamonds,  and  in  their 
midst,  according  to  the  position  of  the  onlooker,  rain¬ 
bows  appeared  in  the  most  beautiful  blaze  of  colour. 
A  picture  of  frantic,  irresistible  movement,  which 
momentarily  completed  itself,  and  by  this  ever-unre- 
mitting  completion  achieved  at  the  same  time  per¬ 
manence.  Always  the  same  river,  stormily  plunging 
hitherward,  shattering  itself  into  dust  in  its  ponderous 
fall,  but  never  precisely  the  same  combination  of  the 
countless  particles  of  water,  which  one  will  never  grow 
weary  of  watching.  Although  Schiller  sang  of  the  old 
Devil’s  Bridge  : 

“  There  sways  a  bridge  in  the  mountain  land 
O’er  the  terrible  gorge  outsweeping  ; 

It  was  not  built  by  human  hand. 

No  man  such  arch  could  e’er  have  planned  .  .  .” 

it  was  not  long  before  events  gave  the  poet  the  lie. 
Even  the  old  bridge  was  built  by  human  hands,  and 
here,  in  1830,  human  hands  constructed,  at  a  still  greater 
height,  a  much  wider  and  more  massive  bridge.  More 
accurately  do  the  poet’s  words  depict  the  mutable 
permanence  of  the  picture  : 

“  Beneath  it  the  raging  stream  for  ever 
Leaps  at  it  foaming,  but  shatters  it  never.” 

At  last,  as  it  was  time  to  make  ready  for  the  con¬ 
tinuation  of  the  journey,  I  tore  myself  away  from  this 
spectacle.  People  left  the  inn  rather  earlier  than  the 
coach  in  order  to  travel  the  whole  of  the  way  through 
the  Ursenertal  and  a  goodly  portion  of  the  upper  Gott- 
hard  Pass  on  foot.  Nevertheless  the  charm  of  the  pass 
was  soon  greatly  diminished.  The  vegetation  became 
ever  scanty,  the  road  more  monotonous,  and  only  the 
very  poor  and  sordid-looking  houses  of  refuge  by  the 


22 


MY  YEARS.OF  EXILE 

roadside — they  were  known  as  cantonments — provided 
landmarks  for  the  traveller  ;  taking  the  place  of  the 
villages — Erstfeld,  Wasen,  Goschenen — which  we  passed 
between  Altdorf  and  Andermatt.  Accordingly  we 
drove  through  the  greater  part  of  this  section  of  the 
pass  in  the  coach,  nor  did  our  interest  revive  to  any 
great  extent  until  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass, 
whence  we  were  able  to  get  a  view  of  the  Tomasee, 
which  is  no  other  than  “  the  home  of  the  Rhine.”  It 
was  not  a  very  inspiring  view — a  silent  lake  with  flat, 
unattractive  banks,  on  which  nothing  was  happening. 
But  a  little  of  the  magic  which  the  name  of  the  stream 
that  flowed  out  of  it  possessed  for  us  fell  upon  the  lake 
itself,  and  we  regarded  it  with  that  respect  which  is 
owing  to  the  grandparent  of  a  famous  personality.  At 
the  hospice  on  the  summit  is  the  halting-place  of  the 
post.  We  got  out,  obtained  some  food,  and  proceeded 
to  begin  the  descent  on  the  south  side. 

I  now  had  a  seat  in  the  coupe  given  me.  My  neigh¬ 
bour  was  a  young  Frenchman,  who  soon  proved  to  be  a 
profitable  companion,  since  he  put  an  end  to  a  feeling 
that  otherwise  might  easily  have  spoiled  the  pleasure 
of  the  downward  journey  for  me.  Wherever  the  road 
downwards  turned  upon  itself  one  had  the  impression 
that  any  farther  advance  must  be  perilous.  The  track 
ran  down  the  steep  slopes  in  great  loops,  but  the  horses, 
of  which  the  driver  controlled  only  the  two  leaders,  by 
means  of  a  slender  bridle,  pressed  downwards  with 
restless  haste,  so  that  in  spite  of  the  width  of  the 
roadway  it  seemed  that  only  a  trifling  mistake  at  one 
of  the  turns  would  hurl  us  all  into  the  depths.  In 
reality  the  position  was  not  so  dangerous  as  it  appeared 
from  the  window  of  the  coupe.  But  there  it  seemed 
as  if  every  turn  must  throw  us  over  the  precipice.  I 
must  confess  that  at  first  I  felt  rather  uncomfortable. 
But  then  I  noticed  that  my  neighbour  had  the  same 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  23 


feeling  in  a  very  much  greater  degree  than  I.  Again 
and  again  he  seized  hold  of  me,  and  emitted,  in  a 
somewhat  husky  voice,  a  flood  of  words  which  were 
intended  to  express  admiration,  but  betrayed  anxiety, 
and,  curiously  enough,  instead  of  proving  contagious, 
these  outbursts  had  a  contrary  effect  upon  me.  I  was 
sorry  for  the  fellow,  but  it  suddenly  flashed  upon  my 
mind  :  “  Since  he  is  worrying  himself  enough  for  two 
you  can  save  your  share  of  anxiety.”  With  a  greater 
inward  calm  than  I  had  previously  felt,  I  allowed  my 
eyes  to  wander  over  the  surrounding  landscape  and  the 
road  lying  before  us.  The  granite  walls  of  the  mountains 
seemed  to  me  to  fall  even  more  precipitously  than  on 
the  northern  side,  and  the  ravines  beside  us  were  visibly 
deeper.  At  moderate  intervals  stones  of  something  less 
than  a  yard  in  height  bordered  the  mountain  road  ; 
at  best  they  might,  if  the  coach  were  really  driven  to  the 
edge  of  the  road,  delay  the  fall  a  little,  but  they  would 
hardly  prevent  it.  Moreover,  such  a  weight  as  that  of 
our  coach  would  have  needed  a  thoroughly  strong  wall 
to  support  it.  But  were  we  then  really  in  danger  ? 
We  were  certainly  moving  forward  at  a  rapid  pace,  but 
we  had  the  mental  illusion  that  the  pace  was  greater 
than  it  really  was,  and  the  turns  of  the  road  were  suffi¬ 
ciently  far  apart  to  give  the  driver  time  to  wheel  the 
horses  quietly.  Even  so,  it  was  a  long  while  before  we 
reached  the  next  stage  of  our  journey,  Airolo.  But,  alas  ! 
afternoon  gave  way  to  evening,  and  the  darkness  fell, 
and  even  before  we  reached  Airolo,  which  we  were 
able  to  see  in  the  distance  long  before  we  got  there,  we 
saw  from  the  coach  that  the  lamps  were  being  lighted 
beneath  us. 

They  lit  the  place  only  very  dimly,  for  as  yet  we  knew 
nothing  of  electric  light.  Once  we  had  reached  the  town 
we  could  make  out  very  little  of  it.  Working  men 
were  still  moving  about — evidently  going  home  from 


24 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


work — through  the  street  in  which  the  posting-station 
was  situated,  in  the  middle  of  which  various  goods  were 
displayed  on  roughly-made  tables.  Despite  the  vague 
outlines — or  perhaps  precisely  on  that  account — this 
was  a  picture  that  made  a  great  impression  on  the 
mind. 

The  beauties  of  the  journey  from  Airolo  over  Faido 
to  Biasca  were,  to  my  great  regret,  as  it  was  now 
quite  dark,  completely  lost  to  us.  From  Biasca  it 
was  possible  to  travel  to  Bellinzona  by  rail,  as  this 
section  of  the  Gotthard  Railway  was  already  completed ; 
and  at  Bellinzona  we  had  again  to  spend  the  night. 
Here  I  noted  that  we  were  in  a  district  where  the  speech 
was  Italian.  The  landlord  of  the  inn  at  which  I  put  up 
spoke,  in  addition  to  Italian,  only  a  very  little  French, 
and  that  little  was  very  ungrammatical,  so  that  we  under¬ 
stood  one  another  very  imperfectly  indeed.  However, 
he  showed  me  to  a  good  room  with  an  irreproachable 
French  bed,  to  which  indeed  I  was  not  immediately 
able  to  accommodate  myself,  but  it  had  the  art  of  keeping 
me  safely  fettered  for  quite  a  long  time.  Once  again 
the  clock  showed  a  late  hour  of  the  morning  when  I 
awoke. 

Of  this  curious  city,  which  with  Locarno  and  Lugano 
has  alternately  shared  the  honour  of  being  the  head¬ 
quarters  of  the  Government  of  the  Canton  Ticino,  I 
could  not  manage  to  see  much.  On  account  of  the 
linguistic  difficulties  already  alluded  to,  my  host  was 
unable  to  give  me  any  good  advice,  and  as  the  post 
for  Lugano  started  before  ten  o’clock  I  could  not  abandon 
myself  to  the  hazards  of  an  improvised  voyage  of  dis¬ 
covery,  gladly  as  I  would  have  obtained  a  nearer  view 
of  Bellinzona’s  Lombard’s  Tower. 

The  last  part  of  the  journey  was  favoured  by  the 
finest  weather.  The  road  ran  over  the  chestnut-covered 
Monte  Cenere,  which  is  pierced  to-day  by  a  fairly  long 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  25 


tunnel,  so  that  those  travelling  by  the  Gotthard 
Railway  have  but  a  faint  conception  of  its  charm  and 
beauty.  I  was  able  to  enjoy  them  in  the  fullest  measure. 

I  had  only  two  travelling  companions,  natives  of  the 
district,  to  whom  I  could  hardly  make  myself  under¬ 
stood.  But  they  served  me  unconsciously  as  guides. 
As  a  matter  of  course  we  went  ahead  of  the  posting- 
carriage  when  the  highway  became  a  mountain  road,  and 
before  it  reached  the  summit  we  could  no  longer  see 
the  carriage.  It  was  impossible  not  to  profit  by  every 
moment  of  the  stroll — for  the  ascent  was  nothing  more. 
The  leaves  were  as  yet  only  partly  fallen  ;  the  trees  were 
still  arrayed  in  all  their  beauty ;  the  foliage  of  the  walnut 
trees  was  as  glossy  as  that  of  the  Spanish  chestnut ; 
but  from  the  ground  rose  the  characteristic  odour  which 
proceeds  from  the  fallen  leaves  in  autumn,  and  is  so 
familiar  to  every  lover  of  the  woods. 

When  we  turned  our  gaze  backwards  we  had  a  view 
which  stretched  from  Bellinzona,  which  we  now  saw 
beneath  us,  to  the  northern  shore  of  Lago  Maggiore, 
whose  beauty,  in  the  light  of  the  sun,  shining  from  a 
bright  blue  sky,  showed  to  peculiar  advantage.  A 
feeling  of  indescribable  well-being  filled  me  all  day 
long.  At  that  time,  and  later,  I  always  noticed  that 
it  was  pleasantest  to  travel  in  the  early  autumn,  even  if 
the  world  was  not  then  at  its  most  beautiful. 

On  the  summit  of  Monte  Cenere  the  carriage  halted 
awhile  at  the  posting-station,  so  that  the  travellers 
might  have  time  for  lunch.  Then  we  had  to  take  our 
places,  for  we  should  now  proceed  at  a  gallop,  first 
along  a  splendid  stretch  of  level  road,  and  then  down¬ 
hill  to  the  Lago  di  Lugano. 

Beautiful  indeed  as  was  this  part  of  the  journey,  it 
could  not  compare  with  the  ascent.  I  never  experience 
the  full  enjoyment  of  travelling  when  I  am  driving  ;  for 
in  a  carriage  I  can  never  throw  off  a  feeling  of  imprison- 


26 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


ment.  Only  the  man  who  goes  wandering  afoot,  without 
being  obliged  to  cover  excessive  distances  in  a  short  space 
of  time,  or  he  who  makes  his  journey  alone,  without  being 
hampered  in  respect  of  fellow-travellers,  can  feel  free 
upon  his  travels.  Only  when  I  was  travelling  afoot 
did  Geibel’s  line  rise  to  my  lips  : 

“  To  wander,  O  to  wander  with  the  free  foot  of  youth  1  ” 

At  the  same  time,  I  cannot  claim  to  be  a  particularly 
good  walker.  It  is  purely  a  matter  of  psychology.  It 
is  no  mere  figure  of  speech  if  I  speak  of  this  feeling  as 
denoting  a  tendency  to  vagrancy  or  the  nomadic  life. 

Something  of  the  sort  may  remain  in  every  man,  but 
with  me  it  is  so  big  a  share  that  among  the  vocations 
which  I  have  missed — and  they  are,  of  course,  many,  as 
in  the  case  of  most  men — I  have  given  the  vocation  of 
vagrant  a  fairly  prominent  place.  Even  at  an  age  when 
in  others  it  has  long  been  laid  aside,  the  longing  still 
used  to  plague  me,  so  that  I  might  in  all  truth  have  sung : 

“So  be  there’s  no  tavern 
By  night  will  I  sleep 
Safe  under  blue  heavens. 

Where  stars  their  watch  keep.” 

But  even  the  journey  northward  down  from  Monte 
Cenere  had  always  a  great  charm. 

It  was  now  afternoon  ;  the  autumn  sun  shone  hot 
in  the  sky  ;  the  landscape  became  animated  ;  we  drove 
past  men  and  beasts  and  hamlets,  and  incessantly  above 
the  trampling  of  the  horses  and  the  rumbling  of  the 
wheels  sounded  the  jingling  of  the  bells  hung  upon  the 
horses*  harness.  Far  in  the  distance  rose  the  peaks  of 
the  mountains  which  enclose  the  Ceresio,  higher  and 
higher  above  the  horizon,  until  at  last  the  lake  of  many 
windings  itself  became  visible,  a  little  at  a  time.  Faster 
and  faster  the  driver  urged  the  horses  ;  faster  and 
faster  they  thundered  onwards,  until  we  drove  into 


ACROSS  THE  ST.  GOTTHARD  IN  1878  27 


Lugano,  between  four  and  five  o’clock,  to  draw  up  at  the 
posting-house,  then  in  the  Via  Canova.  The  goal  of  my 
journey  was  attained. 

My  party  comrade  and  henceforth  my  “  chief,”  Karl 
Hochberg,  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  stopping-place,  and 
took  me,  after  we  had  greeted  one  another,  to  the 
Hotel  Washington,  which  was  built  right  upon  the  lake 
in  the  centre  of  the  bay  of  Lugano.  There  he  had 
engaged  for  us,  facing  the  lake,  in  the  uppermost  storey, 
three  adjoining  rooms — one  for  himself,  one  for  me,  and 
the  third  as  a  sitting-room.  When,  after  the  renewal 
of  my  outer  man,  I  went  out  into  the  trellis-enclosed 
balcony  upon  which  my  window  opened,  the  Lago  di 
Lugano  lay  outspread  beneath  me  in  all  its  splendour. 
The  bay  was  enclosed  by  a  beautiful  shore-line  ;  the 
surface  of  the  lake,  smooth  as  a  mirror,  was  of  a  wonder¬ 
ful  blue-green  ;  and  opposite  me  on  the  right,  as  though 
emerging  suddenly  from  the  depths,  there  rose,  so  close 
that  it  seemed  that  I  could  shout  across  to  it,  the  tower¬ 
ing,  conical  height  of  San  Salvatore,  with  its  lovely 
wooded  slopes  ;  while  on  the  left,  running  hitherwards 
from  the  farther  side  of  the  westerly  arm  of  the  lake, 
were  the  precipitous  Caprini  Mountains,  their  dark 
green  flanks  solemnly  reflected  in  the  water.  Only  a 
few  vessels  were  to  be  seen  on  the  lake  ;  and  below  me 
in  the  harbour  all  was  very  quiet.  It  was  a  wonderful 
picture  ;  one  could  scarcely  hope  to  see  it  to-day  in 
quite  the  same  mood.  The  landscape  and  the  colours 
are  indeed  the  same,  but  the  magical  peace  which  lay 
over  it  all  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 


.£ 

f.  '  & 


CHAPTER  II 


IN  AND  ABOUT  LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 

WHEN  I  paid  Lugano  a  short  visit,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  quarter  of  a  century,  in  the  fateful 
month  of  July  1914,  my  first  impression  was 
almost  one  of  disillusion.  I  was  fully  prepared  to  find 
the  city,  which  in  1878,  the  date  of  my  first  sojourn  there, 
had  numbered  only  a  couple  of  thousand  inhabitants, 
very  considerably  increased  in  size  and  more  of  a  resort 
for  foreigners ;  and  I  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  a 
much  longer  stretch  of  houses  surrounded  the  bay,  that 
an  electric  tramway  ran  through  the  town,  connecting 
it  with  suburbs  on  either  side,  and  that  the  shops  and 
osterie  were  much  smarter  than  of  old ;  and  I  was  able 
thoroughly  to  appreciate  a  great  deal  that  was  new — in 
particular,  the  shady  promenade  by  the  lake,  with  its 
tasteful  pleasure-grounds.  These  gave  Lugano  the  look 
of  a  miniature  Lucerne. 

But  there  is  another  sense  in  which  one  could  and 
can  compare  Lugano  to  a  miniature  Lucerne.  The  vast 
numbers  of  palatial  new  hotels  and  pensions  which  line 
the  shores  of  the  lake  might  well,  in  their  magnificence, 
belong  to  Lucerne,  or  any  other  resort  of  foreign  fashion. 
As  the  town  has  grown  in  extent  it  has  lost  in  character. 
The  individual  quality  of  its  original  character,  although 
it  has  not  completely  disappeared,  has  nevertheless 
been  wantonly  diminished,  and  is  overshadowed  by  a 
growth  which  offers  everything  except  the  things  that 
corresponded  with  this  individuality. 

28 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


29 


In  1878  the  town  of  Lugano  was  still  thoroughly 
Italian,  both  in  its  architecture  and  in  the  character  of 
its  population.  As  long  as  the  Gotthard  Railway  was 
still  uncompleted,  almost  all  the  visitors  from  the  north 
were  of  a  “  select  ”  nature,  and  they  were  not  very 
numerous.  Four  or  five  hotels,  the  number  of  whose 
rooms  was  by  no  means  excessive,  were  enough  to 
provide  for  the  more  well-to-do  visitors  ;  the  rest  found 
accommodation  in  the  alberghi — inns  of  the  Italian  type 
— for  working  men  and  others  of  modest  means.  Italian  in 
type,  too,  were  the  streets,  the  dwelling-houses,  the  shops, 
and  the  osterie.  The  servants  and  the  shop-assistants 
also  were  with  few  exceptions  pure  Italians.  The  ex¬ 
ceptions  in  case  of  the  shops  were  indicated  by  inscrip¬ 
tions  to  the  effect  that  French  or  English  was  spoken, 
or  both  ;  German,  as  yet,  was  rarely  heard.  Even  in 
the  only  cafe  of  the  better  class,  the  Cafe  Tereni,  at  the 
north-west  corner  of  the  Government  building,  the 
present  town  hall,  only  one  of  the  two  waiters  spoke, 
besides  Italian,  a  few  mangled  sentences  of  French  and 
English.  If  one  wished  to  be  clearly  understood  one 
had  to  address  even  him  in  his  native  language. 

Quite  Italian,  too,  was  the  little  theatre,  standing  to 
the  east  of  the  Government  building.  Not  a  stone  is 
left  standing  to-day  to  remind  one  of  its  existence. 
Since  a  company  was  performing  there  at  the  time,  I 
went  there  on  one  of  the  first  evenings  after  my  arrival. 
For  a  very  modest  sum  I  was  admitted  to  the  parterre. 
Had  there  not  been  three  roughly-made  benches  right  in 
front,  which  afforded  a  certain  amount  of  sitting  room, 
the  whole  floor  would  have  offered  standing  accommoda¬ 
tion  only.  A  slight  increase  of  price  was  charged  for 
the  use  of  the  benches,  and  what  use  was  made  of  the 
standing  room  !  That  evening  the  theatre  was  only 
moderately  full,  and  the  public  stood  about  the  floor  in 
irregular  and  by  no  means  very  silent  groups.  To  my 


30 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


amazement  I  saw  that  one  of  the  audience  had  brought 
his  dog  with  him,  to  whom,  from  time  to  time,  he  threw 
a  scrap  of  food  in  order  to  drive  away  boredom.  Al¬ 
most  completely  ignorant  of  Italian,  I  could  not  make 
out  whether  a  serious  drama  or  a  comedy  was  being 
presented.  Experience  taught  me  later  that  this  was 
all  one,  as  far  as  the  behaviour  of  the  public  went. 

The  lower  part  of  the  auditorium  was  intended  only 
for  the  poorer  classes  of  the  population.  Those  who 
considered  themselves  to  belong  to  middle-class  society 
regarded  the  boxes  alone  as  respectable.  These  ran 
right  across  the  theatre ;  I  could  see  no  open  rows  of 
seats  such  as  we  have  in  Germany.  The  boxes  were 
hired  by  middle-class  families  for  the  whole  of  the 
company’s  visit.  People  went  to  their  box  in  the  evening 
in  order  to  talk  to  one  another,  so  that  the  performance 
on  the  stage  often  played  quite  a  subsidiary  part. 
Families  visited  one  another,  I  was  told,  going  from  box 
to  box,  and  gossiping  to  their  hearts’  content.  Only  if 
or  while  the  actors  succeeded  in  reducing  the  public  to 
a  state  of  something  approaching  suspense  was  there  that 
absolute  stillness  in  the  auditorium  to  which  we  are 
accustomed  during  the  performance  of  a  play.  Some 
years  later,  when  I  accompanied  an  acquaintance  made 
at  Lugano  to  an  operatic  performance  in  the  Zurich 
theatre,  he  was  almost  beside  himself,  because  as  long  as 
the  curtain  was  up  the  audience  kept  “  as  quiet  as  if 
they  were  listening  to  a  sermon.”  This  acquaintance 
was  none  other  than  the  French  socialist,  Benoit  Malon, 
who  in  1871  had  been  a  member  of  the  Paris  Commune, 
and  was  now  on  the  way  to  becoming  one  of  the  founders 
of  the  French  Labour  Party. 

Meanwhile,  let  us  linger  a  moment  over  the  town  of 
Lugano,  and  its  inhabitants,  as  I  found  them  in  1878. 
Although  many  of  the  customs  of  the  place  were  inter¬ 
estingly  Italian,  the  general  racial  type  bore  little  re- 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


31 


semblance  to  the  Italian.  On  Saturdays  and  Sundays 
many  of  the  working  folk  used  to  collect  in  the  great 
square  before  the  Government  offices,  which  to-day  is 
known  as  the  Piazza  della  Riforma  ;  not  in  order  to 
demonstrate,  but  merely  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and 
to  hear  the  news,  or  just  for  the  sake  of  a  change.  The 
first  thing  that  struck  me  was,  how  quietly  every  one 
behaved  ;  and  the  second,  how  little  the  great  majority 
of  these  workers  differed  in  complexion  and  physiognomy 
from  the  average  German  working  man.  Not  for  nothing 
was  this  the  province  which  from  the  first  century 
before  Christ  flooded  Lombardy  with  Germanic  and 
other  Northern  races.  Apart  from  this,  the  quiet 
behaviour  of  the  masses  may  be  ascribed  to  their  modera¬ 
tion  in  drinking. 

It  is  a  general  experience,  which  is  partly  explicable 
by  climatic  reasons,  that  in  the  true  wine  countries  the 
people  are  far  more  moderate  in  their  drinking  than  in 
the  countries  where  wine  is  replaced  by  beer  and  brandy. 
And  in  the  southern  Ticino  wine  was  then,  at  all  events, 
the  only  drink  of  the  people. 

This  was  exhibited  in  a  striking  manner  some  days 
before  my  departure  from  Lugano  in  1879.  In  order 
to  get  our  rather  extensive  luggage — several  trunks  and 
half  a  dozen  fairly  big  boxes  of  books — forwarded  to 
the  goods  depot,  I  secured  the  services  of  a  skipper  and 
his  mate,  and  after  they  had  done  their  job,  and  I  had 
paid  them  for  it,  I  invited  them  in  a  becoming  manner 
to  accompany  me  to  an  inn.  Faithful  to  my  national 
beverage,  I  chose  one  of  the  three  inns  (which  I  had  in 
the  meantime  reconnoitred)  where  one  could  obtain,  in 
addition  to  wine,  a  beer  brewed  in  Bellinzona.  I  ordered 
myself  a  glass,  and  asked  my  companions  whether  they 
would  take  beer  or  wine.  Both  declared  for  wine. 
But  as  we  were  drinking,  I  noticed  that  the  eyes  of  both 
kept  turning  towards  my  beer.  “  Would  you  rather 


32 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


have  had  beer,  perhaps  ?  ”  I  inquired.  “  Oh  no,” 
came  simultaneously  from  both  mouths  ;  “  wine  is  good 
enough  for  us — basta  per  noi  il  vino."  Although  not 
precisely  immoderately  dear  (it  cost  threepence  a  glass), 
the  beer  was  evidently,  to  their  thinking,  the  more 
distinguished  drink  —  a  luxury  only  suitable  for  the 
upper  classes. 

Lugano  was  not  warm  enough  for  a  fashionable 
winter  resort ;  in  October  1878  the  hotels  boasted  only 
individual  guests,  and  the  streets  of  the  town  and  the 
drive  beside  the  lake  were  emptier  than  they  can  have 
been  in  the  autumn  season  proper.  Yet  I  was  assured 
that  even  during  the  season  the  foreign  element  was  not 
very  prominent,  so  that  the  general  features  of  the  life 
of  the  town  remained  unchanged.  But  now  everything 
is  quite  different.  There  is  a  restless  rushing  to  and 
fro  in  all  directions,  and  an  inundation  of  foreigners  of 
every  nationality,  Germans  above  all,  which  has  quite 
deprived  the  place  of  its  individuality.  The  peaceful 
Via  Nassa,  with  the  beautiful  old  Convent  Church  of 
Santa  Maria  degli  Angioli  and  its  frescoes  by  Luini,  is 
now  a  modern  avenue,  with  trams  running  through  it, 
whose  huge  hotels  and  boarding-houses  completely  over¬ 
shadow  the  church.  Equally  changed  is  the  Via  Canova, 
running  eastwards,  and  the  great  square  into  which  it 
opens,  and  which  used  to  form  the  most  easterly  portion 
of  the  town.  Larger  in  those  days  than  it  is  to-day, 
but  unpaved,  it  was  bounded  by  workshops  on  its  western 
side,  most  of  the  work  being  done  outside  in  the  open 
air,  while  opposite  the  workshops  unfinished  lengths  of 
stuff  stretched  on  frames  spoke  of  the  existence  of  a  little 
weaving-shed  or  bleachery.  From  the  other  side  of  the 
square  a  narrow,  sunken  lane  ran  along  the  walls  of  the 
Villa  Ciani  Gardens  to  the  wide  expanse  of  the  Campo 
Marzio,  and  an  alley  overhung  by  trees  intersecting  the 
Campo  led  to  the  hamlet  of  Cassarate,  lying  [at  the 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


38 


foot  of  Monte  Bre,  which  boasted  then  of  only  a  few 
working-men’s  houses.  Nowadays  the  Via  Canova  is  only 
a  business  street ;  but  the  old  ingenuous  shops  of  the 
Italian  type  have  made  way  for  modern  shops  of  a 
metropolitan  character,  and  the  primitive  workshops 
have  been  transformed  into  the  carefully  tended  Piazza 
dell’  Independenza,  while  the  sunken  lane  has  become 
the  Viale  Carlo  Cattaneo.  Here,  as  in  Cassarate,  the 
villa  type  of  residence  is  preponderant ;  all  is  trim  and 
pleasant,  but  colourless. 

However,  one  must  accept  these  and  the  other  changes 
as  the  consequence  of  growth,  and  the  enormous  increase 
in  the  number  of  foreign  visitors,  and  try  to  look  on  the 
best  side  of  the  matter.  But  a  thing  I  absolutely  could 
not  and  cannot  get  over  is  the  change  in  the  beautifully 
wooded  heights  about  Lugano.  The  beautiful  and  har¬ 
monious  picture  which  was  formerly  presented  by  the 
surrounding  hills  is  horribly^ disfigured  by  the  giant 
hotels,  boarding-houses,  and  private  villas  that  have 
shot  up  in  wild  confusion.  A  glance  at  the  heights  from 
the  lake  or  the  shore  reveals  a  chaos  that  offends  every 
conception  of  beauty.  Taken  singly,  and  considered 
closely,  each  of  these  buildings  may  possess  its  own 
beauty,  but  the  general  aspect  which  they  lend  to  the 
heights  which  they  have  occupied  can  only  be  described 
as  abominable.  It  is  a  real  piece  of  good  fortune  that 
farther  to  the  east  the  spell  ceases,  and  it  has  so  far 
spared  Monte  Caprino,  which  lies  facing  the  town  to  the 
south-west,  and  also  the  adjacent  heights. 

About  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  Lugano 
was  a  regular  nest  of  fugitives.  Those  who  rebelled 
against  the  Austrian  rule  in  Lombardy  found  it  a  central 
point  from  which  they  could  readily  send  their  pro¬ 
pagandist  literature,  and,  when  circumstances  were 
favourable,  weapons,  into  the  subjugated  province.  The 
Viale  Carlo  Cattaneo  is  named  after  one  of  the  most  famous 
3 


34 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


of  the  Italian  rebels.  It  was  from  Lugano  that  the 
Mazzinist  insurrection  in  Milan  was  arranged  in  1853.  Not 
only  Italians,  however,  but  revolutionists  of  other  nation¬ 
alities  also  gladly  chose  the  quiet  town  of  Lugano,  so 
romantically  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Ceresio,  for 
their  temporary  place  of  refuge.  In  a  little  place  called 
Besso,  in  the  upper  part  of  Lugano,  there  stood  in  my 
time  a  one-storeyed  house  which  the  Italian  Giuseppe 
Mazzini,  the  Hungarian  Lajos  Kossuth,  the  Pole  Langie- 
wicz,  and  the  Russian  Michael  Bakunin  had  inhabited, 
if  not  immediately  one  after  another,  at  least  in  succes¬ 
sion.  It  goes  without  saying  that  I  gladly  profited  by 
an  opportunity  which  was  offered  me  when  a  friend  of 
the  Bakunin  family  showed  me  over  the  place,  sacred  as 
it  was  to  the  cause  of  Revolution. 

Nevertheless,  there  were  but  few  fugitives  to  be 
seen  when  I  arrived  in  Lugano.  The  days  of  the  Italian 
Nationalist  conspiracies  were  over.  Those  of  the  Maz- 
zinists  who  were  still  living  in  Lugano  had  remained  there 
because  they  had  found  a  convenient  livelihood  there, 
and  there  they  dwelt  in  quiet  retirement.  I  became 
acquainted  with  one  example  of  this  species  in  the  person 
of  a  man — he  was,  I  believe,  a  bookseller — who  seemed 
to  take  no  interest  in  anything  but  the  game  of  bowls 
known  as  alle  bocce,  in  the  dialect  of  Lugano  alle  botsch, 
to  which  the  inhabitants  were  passionately  addicted. 
At  the  same  time  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  repre¬ 
sentative  of  quite  another  type  of  Italian  revolutionist  : 

I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  the  great  Ippolito  P - i 

still  in  Lugano. 

This  was  a  type  worth  studying.  He  had  the  seem¬ 
ing  of  a  man  born  to  be  first,  if  not  in  Rome,  then — 
elsewhere.  His  face,  like  his  stature,  was  magnifi¬ 
cent  ;  he  was  tall,  splendidly  built,  with  dark  hair  and 
beard  and  sparkling  eyes.  “  Professor  ”  Ippolito 
P - i,  as  far  as  his  outward  man  was  concerned,  fully 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


35 


came  up  to  all  the  requirements  which  one  is  entitled 
to  expect  in  a  solid,  reliable  basso  in  Italian  opera.  But 
he  was  not  an  opera-singer,  and  as  for  solid  —  no, 

Ippolito  P - i  was  not  solid,  much  as  he  wished  to 

be  thought  so.  By  vocation  a  classical  schoolmaster, 
he  kept  a  little  school,  and  also  published  a  Radical 
bi-weekly  paper,  II  Republicano,  whose  speciality  was 
fulminating  articles  abusing  the  Catholic  Conservative 
Party,  which  was  then  in  office  in  the  Canton  Ticino. 
And  certainly  in  vehemence  and  energy  of  expression 
these  articles  could  hardly  be  surpassed.  “  The  Viper 
does  not  lose  its  Venom,”  “  Clerical  Infamies,”  “  The 
Abject  Creatures  at  their  Work  ” — these  titles  give 
some  idea  of  the  substance  of  his  articles.  Why  he 
was  forced  to  leave  Italy  I  do  not  know.  That  he  was 
no  orthodox  Mazzinist  was  betrayed  by  his  ostentatious 
display  of  antagonism  towards  Iddio.  Ostentation 
was  for  him  the  breath  of  life  :  his  appearance  was 
theatrical  in  the  extreme.  When  he  entered  the  Cafe 
Tereni,  with  his  high-stepping  gait,  from  the  market¬ 
place,  he  at  once,  in  his  noisy  way,  set  the  tone  of 
the  conversation.  Not  a  guest  escaped  his  eyes  ;  none 
could  evade  the  announcement  of  his  atheism  and 
materialism  and  political  radicalism.  In  November 
1878  the  seventy-eight  Social  Democrats  of  Berlin,  who, 
on  the  grounds  of  the  minor  state  of  siege1  just  declared, 
had  without  cause  been  suddenly  banished  from  Berlin 
by  the  police,  addressed  an  appeal  to  their  comrades 
who  were  left  in  the  capital,  in  which  they  required  them 
to  remain  unshaken  in  their  support  of  the  common 
cause,  but  not  to  allow  themselves  to  be  incited  to  any 
rash  and  unconsidered  action.  I  submitted  a  copy  of 
this  manifesto  which  had  been  forwarded  to  me  to  our 
P - i,  who  could  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  speak  German, 

1  A  “  minor  state  of  siege  ”  was  declared  in  political  centres  where 
there  were  many  Socialists. — (Trans.) 

'•  - — ■'  ,W  M*****-'- **  A v'— ~ 


36 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


but  could  read  it  fairly  well.  With  an  inimitable 
gesture  he  returned  it  to  me  :  “  Troppo  moderato, 

caro  amico,  troppo  moderato  !  ”  He  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  with  our  German  Social  Democrats. 

I  had  an  opportunity  of  returning  the  compliment. 
Although  I  too  adhered  to  the  materialistic  conception 
of  the  universe,  he  had  a  way  of  manifesting  his  beliefs 
which  was  not  at  all  to  my  liking.  He  was  fond  of 
declaring  in  front  of  the  Cafe  Tereni,  in  a  voice  that  one 
could  hear  all  over  the  market-place  :  “  Io  sono  una 
bestia,  non  riconosco  che  il  mangiare,  il  bevere  e  le 
donne.”  (I  am  an  animal :  I  know  of  nothing  but 
eating,  drinking,  and  women.)  As  for  some  time  I  was 
only  able  to  converse  with  him  in  French,  I  told  him 
bluntly  one  day,  in  that  language,  that  reading  his  paper 
enabled  me  to  understand  why  the  Clerical  Party  was 
winning  adherents  even  in  Lugano  (as  was  then  the  case). 
He  was  determined  to  catechise  me  on  this  point. 

“  Eh  bien,  citoyen  Berenstein,”  he  cried,  “  vous 
socialiste  allemand,  vous  n’etes  peut-etre  meme  pas 
athde  ?  ”  (Well,  citizen  Bernstein,  you,  a  German 
Socialist,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  not  even  an  atheist  ?) 

For  the  sake  of  puzzling  him  I  replied  that  this  was 
indeed  the  case. 

At  this  he  was  indeed  astonished.  “  Et  vous  croyez 
en  Dieu  ?  ”  (And  you  believe  in  God  ?) 

“Non  plus ”  (Neither  do  I  believe  in  God),  was  my 
rejoinder. 

“  Comment  done  ?  Vous  pretendez  n’etre  pas 
athee,  et  en  meme  temps  vous  declarez  ne  pas  croire 
en  Dieu.  Que  veut  dire  cela  ?  ”  (Come,  come  !  You 
claim  that  you  are  not  an  atheist,  and  at  the  same  time 
you  assert  that  you  don’t  believe  in  God.  What  do  you 
mean  ?) 

I  was  not  then  acquainted  with  the  classic  rejoinder 
which  the  famous  Laplace  once  made  to  Napoleon,  when 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


37 


asked  what  part  God  played  in  his  system  of  the  universe, 
and  my  conceptions  were  largely  innocent  of  the  scientific 
foundations  which  the  great  astronomer  and  natural 
philosopher  had  at  his  disposal.  But  an  idea  similar 
to  that  expressed  in  the  words  :  “  Sire,  je  n’avais  pas 
besoin  de  cette  hypothese  ”  (Sire,  I  did  not  find  that  I 
required  that  hypothesis),  none  the  less  dictated  my  reply ; 
so  I  retorted  dryly,  “  Cela  veut  dire  que  cette  question 
metaphysique  ne  m’occupe  pas  ”  (I  mean  that  that 
metaphysical  question  does  not  interest  me). 

P - i  had  to  be  content  with  this  positivist  reply  ; 

but  it  can  hardly  have  satisfied  him.  The  campaign 
against  the  monarchy,  in  republican  Switzerland,  was 
only  metaphysical ;  there  was  no  popular  movement  of 
any  profound  importance  in  the  Ticino  ;  so  that  in  this 
Catholic  canton,  where  the  adherents  of  the  Clerical 
Party  really  had  matters  all  their  own  way,  the  anti¬ 
clerical  campaign  in  favour  of  philosophical  radicalism 
was  the  only  real  conflict.  There  was  certainly  no  lack  of 
pretext  for  the  vigorous  criticism  of  the  Clerical  office¬ 
holders.  Meanwhile  the  bullying  ostentation  of  a  some¬ 
what  superficial  atheism  and  materialism  was  but  ill 
adapted  to  alienate  the  popular  element,  whose  assistance 
it  was  counting  upon,  from  the  Clericals. 

Very  unlike  the  worthy  P - i  in  his  mode  of  action 

was  an  Italian  anarchist  who  at  that  time  was  unwillingly 
making  his  home  in  Lugano.  Since  he,  I  trust,  like  the 
former,  may  yet  be  counted  among  the  living,  the  reader 
will  perhaps  allow  me  to  mention  him  only  by  a  pseu¬ 
donym.  Filippo  Marzotti,  as  we  will  call  him,  was 

not  such  a  striking  apparition  as  P - i,  but  he  was, 

none  the  less,  of  goodly  stature,  and  his  features  were 
finely  chiselled,  and  since  he  was  younger  and  slenderer 
than  the  other,  he  by  far  excelled  the  bourgeois  politician 
in  elegance,  although  he  was  only  a  mere  hairdresser’s 
assistant.  But  there  was  nothing  affected  about  him; 


38 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


his  manner  was  as  natural  and  unassuming  as  possible. 
His  wife,  Marietta,  too,  if  not  of  a  dazzling  beauty,  was 
considered  extremely  pretty.  They  had  two  children, 
aged  five  and  seven  years  respectively.  They  lived  in 
proletarian  surroundings,  and  increased  their  income, 
the  husband’s  wages  being  very  modest,  by  letting  one 
of  their  rooms,  among  other  expedients.  For  a  time, 
before  I  came  to  Lugano,  the  Russian  Socialist,  Vera 
Sassulitsch,  who  achieved  European  fame  through  her 
trial  for  the  attempted  assassination  of  the  Chief  of 
Police,  Trepoff,  and  her  highly-gifted  countrywoman, 
Anna  Kulischov,  who  was  only  just  becoming  known 
in  the  inner  circles  of  the  Russian,  French,  and  Italian 
Socialists,  had  lodged  with  the  young  couple. 

Quiet  though  Filippo  Marziotti  might  be  in  his  general 
behaviour,  his  political  feelings  were  vehement  enough. 
He  was  body  and  soul  devoted  to  the  Anarchist  cause  ; 
but  in  this  connection  we  must  not  forget  that  Anarchism, 
or  rather  what  was  called  Anarchism,  was  in  Italy  the 
original  form  of  Socialism,  and  was  rooted  in  the  tradi¬ 
tions  of  the  whole  people.  Meanwhile  the  Anarchist 
movement,  thanks  to  the  failure  of  various  attempts  at 
insurrection,  was  already  in  the  throes  of  a  crisis  which 
was  to  cause  it  serious  prejudice. 

If  one  had  asked,  in  the  mid-seventies,  who  were  the 
most  prominent  protagonists  of  Anarchism  in  Italy,  the 
first  names  to  be  mentioned  would  assuredly  have  been 
those  of  Andrea  Costa,  Carlo  Cafiero,  and  Enrico  Mala- 
testa.  Only  the  last  of  these  is  still  living,  is  still  faithful 
to  the  old  flag.  Cafiero,  who,  after  a  most  self-sacrificing 
life,  died  amid  the  clouds  of  a  darkened  intellect,  had 
become  a  critic  of  Anarchism  before  he  lapsed  into  in¬ 
sanity,  without,  however,  becoming  the  propagandist 
of  any  other  movement.  It  was  otherwise  with  Andrea 
Costa.  In  1879  he  turned  his  back  on  the  Anarchist 
movement,  and  declared  himself  in  favour  of  the  Social 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


39 


Democratic  policy  of  participation  in  elections,  entering 
Parliament,  etc.  And  at  a  later  date,  as  Mayor  of  his 
native  town  of  Imola,  and  as  a  member  of  the  Italian 

* 

Parliament,  he  was  for  years  a  prominent  figure  in  the 
political  life  of  Italy.  Before  this  change  in  his  political 
ideas  occurred  he  had  contracted  a  “  free  ”  marriage 
with  the  Russian  Socialist,  Anna  Kulischov,  and  the 
influence  of  this  intellectually-gifted  woman,  who  was 
thoroughly  familiar  with  the  literature  of  German 
Socialism,  must  have  contributed  in  no  small  degree 
to  the  conversion  of  Costa,  the  audacious  Anarchist, 
into  Costa,  the  circumspect  Socialist  politician.  At  all 
events,  our  worthy  Marzotti  attributed  his  desertion  of  the 
Anarchist  cause  entirely  to  the  influence  of  Mme  Kuli¬ 
schov.  When  he  first  heard  the  news  that  Costa  was 
lost  to  the  Anarchist  cause,  he  excitedly  raised  his  hands 
above  his  head,  and  cried  repeatedly,  almost  in  despera¬ 
tion  :  “  Anna  !  Anna  !  Anna  !  ” 

However,  the  hour  of  his  conversion  was  to  strike  a 
few  years  later.  As  early  as  1880,  when  he  came  to 
Zurich  for  a  few  days,  where  we,  in  the  meantime,  had 
settled  down,  he  admitted  that  an  immediate  change 
from  a  capitalist  bourgeois  society  to  an  Anarchist- 
Communist  society  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  that 
the  period  of  transformation  would  probably  last  for 
some  generations.  It  was  not  a  very  long  step  from  this 
conception  to  agreement  with  the  basic  ideas  of  Social 
Democracy. 

On  the  occasion  of  this  visit  Marzotti  gave  me  a 
glimpse  of  what  was  with  him,  and  probably  with 
other  of  his  countrymen,  a  ruling  passion,  of  which 
I  had  hitherto  never  heard.  One  Tuesday  morning 
we  were  walking  along  the  Bahnhofstrasse,  where  the 
weekly  market  was  being  held.  The  market  folk  had 
their  wares  exposed  for  sale  on  the  edge  of  the  pave¬ 
ment.  Our  conversation  had  until  then  been  extremely 


40 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


vivacious,  but  now  it  kept  on  falling  flat,  as  Marzotti 
made  no  rejoinder  to  my  remarks  ;  which  naturally 
damped  my  eloquence.  It  was  threatening  to  cease 
altogether,  when  my  companion  suddenly  exclaimed  : 
“You  must  excuse  me  if  I  was  rather  distracted  just 
now,  but  my  attention  was  captured  by  a  spectacle 
whose  charm  I  can  never  resist.” 

“  And  may  I  ask  what  this  spectacle  was  ?  ” 

“  Why,  yes,”  he  replied,  “  only  you  mustn’t  laugh.” 

And  he  explained  that  what  had  captured  his  at¬ 
tention  was  the  sight  of  the  bundles  of  garlic  which 
are  rarely  lacking  among  the  outspread  wares  of  the 
vegetable-sellers.  His  passion  for  garlic  was  almost 
uncontrollable.  It  was  so  great  that  in  his  earlier  years 
he  had  often  eaten  garlic  until  his  face  was  all  sticky  with 
it,  and  he  himself  almost  intoxicated. 

I  was  quite  familiar  with  garlic  as  a  condiment,  al¬ 
though  at  that  time  I  despised  it  even  in  that  capacity. 
But  that  one  could  devour  garlic  without  any  other 
ingredients  and  even  become  intoxicated  by  it  was  a 
thing  which  I  had  never  suspected. 

Two  Italian  Socialists  came  from  Italy  during  the 
winter  of  1877-78  to  pay  a  short  visit  to  Lugano. 
Professor  Osvaldo  Gnocchi-Viani,  then  editor  of  the 
Milanese  Socialist  newspaper,  La  Plebe,  was  on  his 
honeymoon,  and  he  and  his  young  bride  made  the  first 
break  in  their  journey  at  Lugano.  This  small,  delicately- 
built  man,  I  discovered,  was  a  quiet  thinker  of  very 
impartial  judgment.  Of  quite  a  different  calibre  was 
our  other  visitor,  Paolo  Valera,  who  came  to  Lugano  as 
a  fugitive  from  Varenna.  He  was  a  vehement,  florid 
young  man,  and  one  saw  that  conflict  was  the  breath 
of  life  to  him.  In  the  nineties,  when  I  had  pitched 
my  tent  in  London,  I  met  Valera  once  more,  he  having 
in  the  meantime  become  the  London  correspondent 
of  one  of  the  great  Milanese  newspapers — I  think  it 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


41 


was  the  Secolo.  We  met  repeatedly  at  the  house  of 
a  mutual  friend,  and  it  there  occurred  to  me  how  greatly 
Valera’s  judgment  was  affected  by  his  frame  of  mind. 
About  the  time  of  my  departure  from  London  he  was 
returning  to  Italy,  where  he  founded,  in  Milan,  a  news¬ 
paper  entitled  La  Folia  (The  Multitude),  which,  I  believe, 
is  still  appearing  to-day.  His  frequently  intractable 
Radicalism  often  brought  him  into  conflict  with  the 
leading  representatives  of  Milanese  Social  Democracy, 
and  earned  his  paper  the  malicious  nickname  so  easily 
created  by  the  change  of  a  letter — II  Folio  (The  Mad¬ 
man).  In  Lugano  both  Gnocchi-Viani  and  Valera 
were  made  known  to  me  by  Benoit  Malon,  whom  they 
had  both  sought  out.  And  with  him  I  come  to  that 
member  of  the  colony  of  foreign  Socialists  with  whom 
we  had  most  to  do  during  the  winter  of  1878-79,  and  to 
whom  the  greatest  general  interest  attaches. 

First,  a  few  words  as  to  the  personality  of  the  man. 
Benoit  Malon,  as  the  author  of  a  comprehensive  History 
of  Socialism ,  and  various  other  Socialistic  and  ethical 
volumes,  as  well  as  the  founder  and  editor  of  the  Revue 
Socialiste,  was  for  many  years  one  of  the  most  respected 
representatives  of  contemporary  Socialism  in  France — 
where  amongst  other  things  he  did  a  great  deal  towards 
winning  Jaures  for  the  Socialist  Party.  He  belonged 
to  the  category  of  successful  self-educated  men.  Born 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Lyons,  and  reared  as  a  true 
child  of  the  proletariat,  he  came  to  Paris  towards  the 
end  of  the  Empire,  and  then  joined  the  organisation 
of  the  International  Labour  Association.  He  was  one 
of  the  defendants  in  the  great  prosecution  of  the  members 
of  the  Internationale,  which  took  place  at  the  beginning 
of  the  year  1870,  and  was  confined,  with  his  fellow- 
prisoners,  in  the  Prison  of  St.  Pelagie,  when  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War  broke  out.  The  fall  of  the  Empire  after 
Sedan  brought  him  his  liberty.  During  the  siege  of 


42 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Paris  he  was  busily  occupied  in  organising  the  defence 
of  the  capital,  and  became  an  assessor  in  the  Batignolles 
quarter  of  the  city.  At  the  elections  of  the  National 
Convention  in  the  beginning  of  1871  he  was  elected  as 
one  of  the  deputies  for  Paris,  but  with  Rochefort  and 
others  he  withdrew  from  the  r*  Chamber  of  Rustics,” 
as  it  acquiesced  in  the  cession  of  Alsace-Lorraine. 
Despite  this  fact,  he  was,  with  Thiess,  E.  Varlin  and 
others,  one  of  those  trusted  representatives  of  the 
Parisian  workers  who  in  March  1871  did  their  utmost  to 
prevent  hostilities  between  Paris  and  the  Versailles 
Government.  When  his  efforts  came  to  nothing,  and 
the  Commune  was  proclaimed  in  Paris,  he  was  elected 
one  of  its  members.  He  belonged  to  the  Social  Demo¬ 
cratic  minority  on  the  Council,  and  at  the  time  of  the 
suppression  of  the  Commune  in  the  bloody  days  of  May 
1871  he  was  among  the  defenders  of  one  of  the  last 
barricades.  Some  friends  of  his  concealed  him,  and  he 
escaped  to  Geneva,  and  there,  during  the  conflict  between 
the  Autonomist  Party  of  West  Switzerland  and  the 
General  Council  of  the  Internationale  in  London,  he 
took  the  part  of  the  former.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
Social  Democratic  League  founded  by  Michael  Bakunin, 
and  one  of  the  trusted  followers  of  the  Russian  re¬ 
volutionist  ;  but  some  time  later  he  withdrew  from  the 
Bakunist  movement,  lived  for  many  years  in  different 
parts  of  Italy,  and  finally  settled  in  the  Ticino,  where 
he  had  his  very  modest  home  in  the  village  of  Castagnola, 
near  Lugano. 

Even  in  Paris  Malon  had  worked  hard  to  increase 
his  intellectual  accomplishments,  and  while  he  was  in 
exile  certain  cultivated  women  who  took  an  interest  in 
him  encouraged  him  in  his  efforts  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 
so  that  his  political  friends  began  to  regard  him  almost  as 
a  savant .  For  many  years  he  lived  with  the  writer  of 
Socialistic  novels  who  was  known  under  the  name  of 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


43 


Andre  Leo.  She  was  a  contributor  to  some  of  the  more 
prominent  Parisian  newspapers ;  and  he  still  main¬ 
tained  a  literary  correspondence  with  her  when  their 

personal  relations  had  been  dissolved,  and  he  had  found 

..  . 

his  true  companion  for  life  in  a  cultured  Russian  lady, 
Katerina  Katkov,  who  was  both  a  provident  house¬ 
wife  and  an  indefatigable  assistant  in  his  literary  labours. 
His  alliance  with  this  excellent  woman  was  in  a  literary 
sense  quite  peculiarly  advantageous,  as  she  had  a  very 
fair  mastery  of  the  German  language,  and  made  him 
acquainted  with  productions  of  German  literature  * 
which  would  otherwise  have  escaped  his  attention. 
Under  her  direction  he  himself  spent  some  time  in  the 
study  of  German. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  Benoit  Malon  had  nothing 
attractive  in  his  appearance.  In  his  build  and  his 
movements  there  was  much  of  the  peasant,  and  his 
features  were  quite  expressionless.  Nothing  about 
him  betrayed  the  Frenchman  of  the  South.  A  man  of 
medium  height,  rather  broadly  built,  circumspect  by 
nature,  he  might  equally  well  have  come  from  any 
part  of  Germany.  His  face  was  broad,  and  his  rather 
thick  nose  downright  ugly.  Yet  he  was  always  suc¬ 
cessful  with  women,  had  he  wished  to  captivate  them  ; 
even  with  those  who  had  no  lack  of  other  adorers. 
This  success  earned  him  in  some  quarters  the  reputa¬ 
tion  of  a  woman-hunter,  which  he  certainly  was  not. 
The  women  with  whom  he  formed  intimate  relations 
were  cultivated  Socialists,  and  were  older  than  he  was. 
What  they  seemed  to  find  attractive  in  him  was  appar¬ 
ently  the  earnest  striving  of  the  proletarian  for  know¬ 
ledge,  and  his  profound  devotion  to  the  Socialist  move¬ 
ment.  It  was  Malon  the  Socialist  in  particular  who 
won  the  self-sacrificing  sympathy  of  Katerina  Katkov. 

About  1878  Malon  started  a  fortnightly  publica¬ 
tion,  Le  Socialisme  Progresif.  In  this  he  published 


44 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


his  History  of  Socialism  in  its  first  and  as  yet  rather 
sketchy  state.  The  Socialist  movement  in  France  was 
only  just  beginning  to  recover  strength,  so  that  the 
enterprise  offered  no  hope  of  any  financial  results  worth 
mention.  Malon  earned  his  living  chiefly  as  book-keeper 
and  correspondent  to  a  wealthy  French  silk-grower, 
who  lived  in  Castagnola,  in  a  villa  magnificently  situ¬ 
ated  on  the  lake.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  Malon 
himself  lived  in  the  village.  And,  as  the  quiet  town  of 
Lugano  did  not  afford  Karl  Hochberg,  who  was  hig'hly 
nervous  and  subject  to  severe  insomnia,  a  sufficient 
security  against  disturbing  noises,  Malon  found  a 
refuge  for  us  too  in  Castagnola.  This  was  a  quietly 
situated  cottage  between  the  upper  and  lower  portions 
of  the  village,  which  was  still  only  sparsely  built  over. 
It  was  known  as  Casa  in  Valle.  From  the  end  of 
October  1878  to  the  beginning  of  April  1879,  Hochberg 
and  I  were  its  only  human  inhabitants  ;  so  that,  strictly 
speaking,  our  winter  in  Lugano  was  a  winter  in 
Castagnola. 

From  the  village  of  Cassarate  a  fairly  level  road  ran 
to  the  lower  part  of  Castagnola,  which  consisted  of  a 
modest  number  of  villas,  situated  on  the  lake,  and  a 
very  narrow  village  street,  into  which  the  sun  never 
shone  whether  in  summer  or  winter,  which  ran  past 
the  backs  of  these  villas.  Another  road  proceeding 
from  Cassarate,  at  first  at  a  moderate  gradient,  but  which 
soon  became  steeper,  with  various  twists  and  turns,  led 
upwards  to  the  village  of  Bre,  and  then  to  the  summit  of 
Monte  Brd.  At  a  height  of  about  600  ft.  above  the  lake 
a  road  turned  off  which  led  to  the  local  church.  On 
either  side  of  it  was  a  small,  one-storeyed  house,  devoid 
of  all  adornment.  One  of  these  was  inhabited  by  a 
working-class  family  ;  the  other  was  our  Casa  in  Valle. 
It  belonged  to  the  sister  of  the  village  priest,  a  spinster 
of  some  fifty  years,  by  name  Prudenza  Prati.  She 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


45 


lived  with  her  brother  in  the  presbytery  by  the  church, 
and  we  shared  with  her,  morning,  noon,  and  evening, 
the  indispensable  services  of  her  aged  maid-servant. 
Apart  from  this  we  had  no  human  housemates,  day  or 
night  ;  but  under  the  ground  floor  proper,  on  the  actual 
level  of  the  soil,  was  a  stall  wherein  a  ewe,  which  one  day 
gave  birth  to  a  very  short-lived  lamb,  led  a  still  more 
lonely  existence.  Fortunately,  the  stall  lay  right  under 
the  kitchen,  or  the  bleating  of  the  sheep  would  have 
disgusted  poor  Hochberg  with  this  refuge  also.  He 
would  not  have  lost  much  if  it  had  done  so ;  the  house 
was  equipped  as  simply  as  possible,  the  furniture 
being  limited  to  absolute  necessaries.  A  roomy  kitchen 
on  one  side  of  the  entrance  passage,  and  a  fairly  large 
living-room  on  the  other  side,  constituted  the  whole 
of  the  ground  floor,  while  upstairs  were  two  or  three 
bedrooms.  Only  the  sitting-room  had  a  practicable 
fireplace,  and  even  this  was  in  such  an  unfinished 
state  that  we  really  should  have  needed  the  experience 
of  Prudenza  and  her  maid  to  light  a  decent  fire  with 
the  fuel  at  our  disposal — faggots  of  oak,  which  were 
either  insufficiently  dried,  or  had  got  damp  again. 
Hochberg  accordingly  suffered  much  from  the  want 
of  external  warmth,  which  he  needed  all  the  more  as 
the  winter  was  quite  exceptionally  cold,  and  in  his  case 
it  was  as  good  as  useless  to  speak  of  obtaining  inward 
warmth  by  means  of  special  nourishment.  Why  he, 
who,  as  the  eldest  son  of  a  very  wealthy  Frankfurt 
merchant,  was  reared  in  the  lap  of  bourgeois  comfort, 
and  had  the  means  to  arrange  his  life  as  he  pleased, 
should  have  endured  these  conditions  for  months  at  a 
time,  only  those  could  understand  who  were  familiar 
with  the  unusual  character  and  career  of  this  peculiar 
man. 

Karl  Hochberg  lost  his  mother  very  early,  and  was 
still  young  when  his  father  died.  His  father  was  a  man 


46 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


of  broad  intellectual  views,  whose  villa  on  the  Borken- 
heim  high  road  was  visited  by  all  sorts  of  scholars  and 
men  of  letters  ;  among  them  the  famous  naturalist 
and  Arctic  explorer  Payer.  When  in  1866  Frankfurt 
was  forcibly  Prussianised — and  during  the  occupation 
General  Manteuffel,  who  was  in  command,  lived  in  the 
Hochbergs’  villa — Hochberg’s  father  obtained  for  his 
son  the  rights  of  a  Swiss  citizen,  in  order  that  the  latter 
need  not  serve  in  the  Prussian  Army ;  thus  following 
the  example  of  many  of  the  Democrats  of  Frankfurt. 
The  Prussian  Government  countered  this  expedient 
by  promptly  expelling  the  youthful  newly-made  Swiss 
from  Prussia.  In  order  to  have  his  son  as  near  him  as 
possible,  Hochberg’s  father  sent  him  to  Darmstadt,  as 
a  boarder  in  the  house  of  the  well-known  Democrat 
'(  and  philosophical  materialist,  Dr.  Ludwig  Buchner, 
the  author  of  Kraft  und  Stoff  and  similar  works — an 
act  significant  of  his  way  of  thinking.  Under  this 
intellectual  influence  Karl  Hochberg  spent  the  last  few 
years  of  his  life  at  the  gymnasium,  and  by  the  radicalism 
of  the  opinions  developed  in  his  school  essays  he  not 
infrequently  provoked  the  disapproval  of  his  teachers, 
even  though  he  usually  obtained  the  highest  marks 
for  construction  and  subject-matter.  He  matriculated 
brilliantly,  his  diligence  and  his  unusual  talents  being 
expressly  recognised.  In  the  meantime  he  had  lost 
his  father,  and  as  a  student  was  absolutely  his  own 
master.  Unfortunately,  for  he  paid  no  attention  to  his 
naturally  delicate  health,  and  undermined  it  by  over¬ 
work  and  under-nourishment.  He  had  chosen  philo¬ 
sophy  as  his  chief  subject  of  study,  but  did  not  confine 
his  labours  to  the  departments  of  science  included  in  his 
course,  but  extended  them  to  as  many  other  subjects  as 
possible,  since  for  him  philosophy  embraced  sociology 
in  its  various  ramifications.  While  under  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  Friedrich  Albert  Lange  and  others  he 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


47 


shook  off  his  materialistic  philosophy,  turning  to  an 
idealism  based  upon  theoretical  perception,  and  left  the 
sociology  of  Buchner  and  his  fellows  behind  him  in 
favour  of  a  definite  Socialism,  which  was  of  course 
conditioned  above  all  by  ethical  factors.  Ethical  and '5: 
philosophical  motives  led  him  to  embrace  vegetarian¬ 
ism,  which  was  all  the  more  disastrous  in  his  case,  in¬ 
asmuch  as  owing  to  the  neurasthenia  caused  by  over¬ 
work  he  refrained  from  all  concentrated  or  nourishing 
vegetarian  foods  because  he  believed  that  such  gave 
rise  to  cardialgia.  The  amount  of  food  which  he  con¬ 
sumed  during  the  months  of  our  life  together  was 
incredibly  small.  I  might  lecture  him,  or  resort  to 
stratagem,  in  order  to  wean  him  from  this  pernicious 
way  of  life,  but  all  in  vain  ;  until  finally,  early  in  1879, 
by  means  of  a  coup  d’etat,  I  brought  about  a  change 
which  could  no  longer  be  deferred.  Meanwhile,  as  a 
result  of  Hochberg’s  self-imposed  starvation-cure, — for 
one  could  hardly  call  it  anything  else, — his  bodily  strength 
and  his  resistance  to  cold  continually  diminished. 

Serious  as  the  problem  was,  our  situation  was  not 
without  its  entertaining  aspects  and  incidents.  It  was 
impossible  to  get  our  landlady  to  understand  what 
Hochberg’s  vegetarianism  meant.  That  any  one  should 
refrain  from  indulgence  in  the  flesh  of  beasts  and  birds 
was  a  thing  which  the  pious  Catholic  was  able  to  under¬ 
stand,  even  though  as  strict  an  abstinence  was  observed 
on  ordinary  days  as  on  the  fast-days  which  the  Church 
enjoined  upon  the  faithful.  But  that  this  abstinence 
should  extend  even  to  refraining  from  fish  was  a  thing 
which  she  was  absolutely  incapable  of  realising.  When¬ 
ever  we  had  occasion  to  discuss  Hochberg’s  meagre  diet 
she  would  always  inquire  whether  she  might  not  at  least 
get  some  fish  for  "  Signor  Carlo/'  And  when  I  replied 
that  she  absolutely  must  not  do  so,  as  Hochberg  ab¬ 
stained  from  fish  no  less  than  from  meat,  on  principle, 


48 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  worthy  Prudenza  Prati  would  be  horrorstruck, 
shaking  her  head  and  exclaiming,  over  and  over  again  : 
“  O  che  penitenza  !  O  che  penitenza  !  ”  The  good 
Signor  Carlo,  who  seemed  such  a  gentle  creature,  must 
apparently,  in  her  opinion,  have  had  something  horrible 
on  his  conscience  before  he  could  impose  such  a  penance 
upon  himself  ! 

To  me  personally  the  worthy  Prudenza  Prati  was  of 
the  greatest  service.  For  a  long  time  she  was  the  only 
person  on  whom  I  ventured  to  try  my  broken  Italian  ; 
so  that  she  was,  so  to  speak,  my  unconscious  tutor.  I 
had  come  to  Lugano  with  just  a  few  words  of  Italian, 
but  no  further  knowledge  of  the  language.  I  found  it  too 
much  trouble  to  engage  a  teacher,  so  I  provided  myself 
with  a  phrase-book  and  a  grammar,  made  myself  familiar 
with  the  verbs,  etc.  ;  and  every  evening,  before  the 
lights  were  put  out,  I  learned  a  number  of  words  by  heart, 
and  when  I  had  mastered  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two 
hundred  words  I  courageously  began  to  engage  Signora 
Prudenza  in  conversation.  Little  by  little  we  got  to 
understand  one  another  quite  well ;  but  unhappily  for 
my  progress  in  the  Italian  tongue  her  visits  to  us  were 
infrequent ;  she  usually  sent  us  our  food,  etc.,  by  the 
old  maid-servant,  and  it  was  quite  impracticable  to 
converse  with  any  readiness  with  this  poor  creature, 
who  suffered  from  every  possible  defect  and  malady 
of  age. 

In  Malon’s  circle,  which  constituted  our  only  society, 
the  prevailing  language  was  French.  This  circle  con¬ 
sisted,  on  the  one  hand,  of  Malon  and  his  wife,  with  a 
sister  and  a  cousin  of  the  latter,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
of  M.  d’Arces  and  his  wife,  and  some  members  of  their 
household.  At  the  villa  of  Malon’s  employer  we  spent 
many  a  social  evening,  at  which  the  guests  were  as 
varied  in  social  standing  as  they  were  in  nation¬ 
ality. 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


49 


M.  d’Arces  made  an  unfavourable  impression  upon 
me  at  the  outset,  and  what  I  learned  of  him  in  later 
years  justified  my  first  opinion  of  him.  In  his  young 
days  he  had  been  a  viveur  of  the  approved  type,  and  was 
said  to  have  revealed  himself  as  a  reckless  man  of  busi¬ 
ness.  In  his  home,  however,  he  was  extremely  hospit¬ 
able,  and  even  patriarchal — perhaps  owing  to  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  Mme  d’Arces,  who  was  by  birth  Hungarian, 
and  of  a  confiding,  unpretentious  nature.  Her  maid¬ 
servants  and  her  cook  nearly  always  participated  in 
our  evenings,  and  often  enough  there  were  also  two 
workwomen,  whom  M.  d’Arces  employed  in  his  house 
to  sort  the  silkworm  eggs.  One  of  these  women  had 
been  employed  for  some  years  in  Lyons,  so  that  she  spoke 
French,  as  did  the  cook,  a  native  of  Champagne,  who 
was  known  in  our  circle  as  the  Marchioness,  on  account 
of  her  majestic  figure  and  her  really  almost  elegant 
manners.  Tall,  but  not  too  heavily  built,  this  woman  of 
the  people  behaved  in  such  a  quiet,  distinguished  manner 
in  every  situation  that  when  she  and  her  homely  little 
mistress  went  marketing  any  one  who  encountered 
them  would  certainly  have  taken  the  cook  for  the  mis¬ 
tress,  and  Mme  d’Arces  for  her  servant. 

An  elderly  roue  is  usually  good  company,  and  M. 
d’Arces  would  have  been  no  Frenchman  if  he  had  not 
known  how  to  play  the  part  of  an  affable  host.  So 
these  assemblies  were  jovial  affairs  ;  our  host  was  quite 
exceptionally  proficient  in  casting  off  the  cares  of  busi¬ 
ness,  and  as  a  good  Frenchman  he  knew  how  to  say 
something  neat  to  everybody,  as  when,  at  the  be¬ 
ginning  of  Carnival,  in  1879,  we  surprised  him,  at  the 
instigation  of  one  of  the  ladies  of  our  circle,  with  a  little 
masquerade. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  our  life  in  Castag- 
nola  consisted  only  of  social  intercourse  and  entertain¬ 
ment.  The  evenings  in  the  Villa  Riva  were,  on  the  con- 
4 


50 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


trary,  merely  oases  in  an  existence  which  from  some 
points  of  view  was  melancholy  enough,  altogether  too 
full  of  serious  thought  and  serious  work. 

Of  this  I  will  say  more  in  another  connection.  But 
here  is  something  further  that  partakes  of  the  nature  of 
an  oasis. 

One  day  I  learned  from  Prudenza  Prati  that  a 
marionette  performance  would  be  given  in  the  village 
that  evening.  I  at  once  made  up  my  mind  to  see  this  ; 
firstly,  because  I  was  interested  in  the  life  of  the  people, 
and  secondly,  because  my  Italian  might  profit  if  I  kept 
my  ears  open.  I  obtained  a  description  of  the  house 
where  the  performance  was  to  be  held,  and  in  the  evening 
groped  my  way  through  the  unlighted  village  to  the 
“  theatre.”  This  consisted  of  a  stage  not  more  than  a 
yard  square,  which  was  put  up  in  the  living-room  of  an 
ordinary  farmhouse  ;  and  the  performance  took  place 
by  the  light  of  a  moderately  large  oil-lamp.  Programme  : 
Una  Traggedia,  followed  by  Una  Farsa,  after  which 
there  would  be  dancing.  From  the  point  of  view  of  one 
eager  for  learning  I  got  nothing  for  my  money,  despite 
the  very  low  price  of  admittance.  Of  the  tragedy  I 
understood  terribly  little ;  the  dialogue  was  to  my  ears 
so  indistinctly  delivered  that  only  certain  outcries,  such 
as  “  O  traditrice,  traditrice  !  ”  and  the  like,  and  the  in¬ 
evitable  murder  at  the  end,  enabled  me  to  guess  at  the 
nature  of  the  play  ;  and  the  farce,  which  was  played 
in  dialect,  was  comprehensible  to  me  only  when  the 
comic  character — Menegino — gave  somebody  or  other  a 
cudgelling,  which,  to  the  edification  of  the  public,  hap¬ 
pened  at  almost  every  moment.  For  the  dance,  a  boy 
played  a  small  barrel-organ.  Each  dance  cost  ten 
centimes — not  for  each  couple,  but  for  the  whole  party. 
It  was  the  rule  that  whoever  paid  for  the  dance 
secured  a  monopoly  for  that  occasion  for  himself  and 
his  friends.  Infringements  of  this  rule  were  strongly 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


51 


reprobated.  This  I  was  one  day  given  very  plainly  to 
understand,  although  with  notable  tact. 

Primitive  as  these  “  Performances  with  Dance  ” 
were,  yet  they  meant,  at  all  events,  an  interruption 
in  “the  eternal  sameness  of  the  days.”  Moreover,  I 
ventured  to  hope  that  my  ear  would  become  accustomed 
to  the  pronunciation  of  the  marionette  director.  So  I 
visited  these  shows  repeatedly,  and  induced  our  friends 
to  do  the  same.  Those  who  were  young,  or  felt  so, 
would  even  foot  it  at  the  dance.  Unacquainted  with  the 
before-mentioned  rule,  I  myself  was  dancing,  without 
thinking  whether  one  of  us  had  paid  for  the  dance,  or 
one  of  the  villagers  ;  now  and  again,  indeed,  I  invited 
a  village  belle  to  be  my  partner.  Then,  as  I  was  once 
more  laying  my  ten  centimes  on  the  barrel-organ,  a  voice 
cried  in  an  explanatory  manner :  “I  Francesi !  ”  and 
not  a  single  villager  rose  to  dance.  Even  when  we 
foreigners  were  resting  for  a  moment,  the  villagers  still 
refrained  from  dancing,  as  though  to  inform  us  :  “  Now 
it  is  your  turn  ;  afterwards  you  must  let  us  have  ours.” 
“  The  Frenchmen,**  in  allusion  to  Malon  and  d’Arces, 
was  the  collective  name  for  us. 

A  little  later  on  we  used  sometimes  to  visit  a  per¬ 
formance  of  a  higher  quality  at  the  village  of  Gandria, 
beautifully  situated  on  the  lake.  In  Carnival  time  the 
daughters  of  the  local  upper  ten  thousand  gave  a 
theatrical  performance  which  the  Catholic  parish  priest 
had  rehearsed  with  them.  A  serious  drama  was  played 
in  a  sort  of  warehouse,  followed  by  a  farce,  in  which 
matters  went  gaily  enough  without  the  presence  of 
Menegino  and  Arlequino.  The  priest  revealed  himself 
as  an  excellent  prompter.  The  girls  wore  pretty 
costumes,  and  acquitted  themselves  with  no  little 
natural  grace. 

On*  day  we  paid  a  visit  to  the  regular  theatre  at 
Lugano,  when  we  saw,  from  the  benches  of  the  pit,  some 


U*  01  ILL  UBo 


52 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


acts  of  an  Italian  dramatisation  of  Sue’s  Wandering 
Jew.  As  to  the  male  actors,  I  will  be  silent.  But  the 
actress  who  played  Adrienne  de  Cardoville  seemed  to 
have  grown  into  her  part,  and  in  particular  announced 
Fourier’s  philosophy  of  life  in  a  most  impressive 
manner. 

In  the  villages  of  the  neighbourhood  the  local 
Saints’  days — and  what  locality  in  this  country  has  not 
its  patron  saint ! — always  afforded  a  pretext  for  a  festa, 
together  with  a  sort  of  fair.  We  participated  in  a  few  of 
these  festas.  The  best  of  them  was  the  festival  of  the 
Holy  Provino,  falling,  I  think,  on  the  8th  of  March, 
as  celebrated  in  the  village  of  Agno,  lying  at  the  foot  of 
Monte  Salvatore,  to  the  west.  This  is  a  very  popular 
festa ,  which  attracts  large  numbers  of  visitors  from  the 
whole  surrounding  district.  For  Hochberg  and  the 
Malon  family  the  distance  to  Agno  was  too  great,  so 
that  I  was  accompanied  on  my  pilgrimage  only  by  the 
French-speaking  employee  of  M.  d’Arces  and  her 
younger  brother.  When  we  reached  Agno  I  noted 
that  in  addition  to  all  sorts  of  enticing  goods  a  great 
many  artificial  flowers  were  offered  for  sale,  and  that 
almost  all  the  younger  visitors  were  wearing  bunches  of 
them  ;  so  I  too  bought  a  bunch  and  gave  one  to  my 
companion.  She  accepted  it  with  thanks,  but  soon 
afterwards  presented  me  with  a  bunch  in  return,  and 
insisted  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  pin  it  in  place. 
Afterwards  I  learned  from  Malon  the  significance  of 
this  proceeding.  The  gift  of  flowers  at  the  festa  of  San 
Provino  has  a  definite  symbolical  meaning.  If  the 
maiden  declines  the  bunch  of  flowers  offered  by  some 
admiring  youth,  this  means  :  “  Find  another  maiden  ; 
I  don’t  want  to  know  you.”  But  if  she  accepts  it, 
and  gives  the  youth  a  bunch  in  return,  she  gives  him 
to  understand  :  ”1  like  you  very  well,  but  I  won’t 
take  you  for  my  sweetheart.”  But  if  she  simply 


LUGANO  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO 


53 


accepts  the  flowers  without  giving  any  in  return  she 
thereby  declares  that  the  youth  is  her  chosen  lover. 

In  the  case  of  Angiolina,  therefore,  I  had  only  won 
her  esteem.  I  soon  learned  who  the  more  fortunate 
individual  was.  Like  other  feminine  members  of  our 
circle,  the  poor  little  woman  was  at  that  time  head  over 
ears  in  love  with  Karl  Hochberg.  But  she  had  no 
better  luck  than  I ;  he  would  have  accepted  the  bunch 
of  flowers  from  her  only  to  give  her  one  in  return. 

In  Agno  it  struck  me  how  quietly  the  people  took 
part  in  the  delights  and  entertainments  of  the  festa. 
In  the  evening,  as  we  were  returning  home,  we  did  not 
meet  a  single  drunken  man  on  the  bustling,  crowded 
high  road.  I  myself  was  in  a  festive  mood,  which  would 
not  have  been  damped  even  had  I  already  understood  the 
meaning  of  Angelina's  “  flower-language.”  For  al¬ 
though  my  companion  was  a  really  pretty  girl,  .1  should 
not  at  that  time  have  dreamed  of  engaging  upon  a  love- 
affair  with  a  young  girl  without  any  “  serious  intentions.” 
My  opinions  concerning  free  love  had  remained,  so  far, 
as  regards  their  application  to  myself,  purely  theoretical. 
And  the  serious  character  of  the  times  did  not  allow  me 
to  entertain  any  “  serious  intentions.”  I  might  laugh  it 
away  for  a  moment  in  the  midst  of  cheerful  society,  but 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  disregard  it. 

The  power  which  opposed  its  veto  to  such  forgetful¬ 
ness  was  known  as  “  The  Exceptional  Laws  against 
Social  Democracy.  ” 


CHAPTER  III 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 

THE  winter  of  1878-79  was  unusually  hard  in 
Lugano  and  the  neighbourhood.  “  Tanta  neve ! 
Tanta  neve !  ”  cried  Prudenza  Prati  not  in¬ 
frequently,  when  she  brought  us  our  food;  and  she 
assured  us  every  time,  as  though  apologising,  that  it 
was  a  long  while  since  Castagnola  had  seen  such  a  deep 
fall  of  snow  as  there  was  that  winter.  But  it  not  only 
snowed  most  effectually  in  Castagnola  ;  for  a  time  there 
was  also  a  great  deal  of  frost  and  ice.  By  the  side  of 
our  mountain  road  the  little  pools  were  frozen  which 
were  made  here  and  there  by  the  water  that  ran  down 
from  the  higher  parts  of  the  mountain  beneath  the  snow. 
By  midday  the  water  was  flowing  over  the  ice  and  on 
to  the  road,  so  that  at  night  it  froze  to  a  glassy  surface 
and  made  walking  downhill  a  pretty  neck-breaking 
business.  It  was  unpleasant  enough  for  us,  since  we 
had  abundant  reasons  for  going  down  into  the  town 
as  often  as  possible.  This  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
winter  of  1878-79  promised  to  be  a  very  hard  winter 
for  us  from  another  point  of  view  as  well.  Only  a  few 
days  had  elapsed  since  Karl  Hochberg  and  I  had  settled 
down  in  the  Casa  in  Valle  when  the  news  reached  us 
that  the  anti-Socialist  Bill,1  accepted  by  the  Reichstag 
at  the  third  reading,  had  received  the  assent  of  the 
Federal  Council,2  and  would  immediately  be  promul- 

1  Literally,  “Exceptional  legislation  against  Social  Democracy." 
— (Trans.) 

2  Bnndesrat. — (Trans.) 


54 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


55 


gated.  On  the  following  day  we  heard  of  an  application 
of  the  Act  which  exceeded  our  worst  fears.  Not  only 
were  all  pamphlets,  etc.,  published  by  the  Social  Demo¬ 
cratic  pubhshing-houses  prohibited  without  more  ado, 
no  matter  how  moderate  their  contents  might  be  ;  not 
only  were  the  Social  Democratic  newspapers  mercilessly 
suspended,  although  they  had  endeavoured  to  conduct 
themselves  in  conformity  with  the  Act ;  but  even  those 
broad-sheets  were  suppressed  which,  issued  from  the 
Social  Democratic  printing-presses  in  place  of  the  pro¬ 
hibited  newspapers,  had  been  run  on  non-party  lines, 
and  had  restricted  themselves  to  the  mere  reproduction 
of  news.  Well  might  Count  Eulenburg  declare,  from 
the  Government  benches,  on  the  occasion  of  the  debate 
on  the  Bill,  on  the  14th  of  October  1878  : 

“  If  the  Socialist  leaders  and  journalists,  Messrs. 
Liebknecht,  Most,  and  whatever  their  names  may  be, 
are  really  desirous  in  future  of  expounding  their  aims 
in  a  peaceful  manner,  why  do  they  need  the  same 
periodicals  as  hitherto  ?  It  will  be  a  much  safer  and 
much  more  intelligible  symptom  if  they  found  other 
organs  with  peaceful  tendencies,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
prevent  this.” 

But  these  words  were  so  much  empty  sound.  Now 
the  Act  was  law,  and  there  was  no  appeal  against  it. 
The  Minister’s  declaration  had  been  noted  only  in  a  few 
quarters  outside  Prussia,  and  the  decisive  authorities 
did  not  trouble  themselves  in  the  least  about  it.  At  the 
same  time,  certain  juridical  guarantees  which  had  been 
introduced  into  the  Bill  by  the  left  wing  of  the  National 
Liberals,  supported  by  the  Centre  and  the  Progressive 
Party,  proved  to  be  ineffectual  on  account  of  the  actions 
of  the  police.  In  accordance  with  the  original  proposal 
of  the  Government,  for  example,  all  associations, 
periodicals,  etc.,  which  should  give  evidence  of  activities 
directed  toward  the  undermining  of  the  existing  order 


56 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


of  the  State  and  Society  “  in  a  manner  endangering  the 
public  peace  ”  were  to  be  prohibited.  Lasker  and  his 
followers  had  sought  to  prevent  the  arbitrary  interpreta¬ 
tion  of  this  proposal  by  replacing  the  elastic  phrase 
“  directed  toward  the  undermining  ”  by  the  more 
definite  expression  “  directed  toward  the  overthrow.” 
But  what  to  their  juridical  logic  appeared  to  be  a  rampart 
against  the  prohibition  of  the  spread  of  Socialistic  reform 
was  to  the  logic  of  the  police  authorities  a  mere  cobweb, 
easily  swept  away.  As  regards  the  non-party  news¬ 
papers  published  by  the  Social  Democratic  Press,  the 
police  simply  declared  that  they  considered  them  to  be 
mere  continuations  of  the  prohibited  journals,  for  which 
reason  they  suspended  them. 

In  this  manner  the  persecuted  party  was  deprived 
not  only  of  its  literature  and  its  Press,  but  even  the 
co-operative  printing-houses,  established  by  arduous 
efforts,  with  the  aid  of  the  workers’  savings,  were 
suddenly  ruined,  and  those  employed  in  them  were 
left  without  a  crust.  The  material  damage  was  greatly 
augmented  when  suddenly,  in  November  1878,  without 
the  slightest  incident  having  occurred  indicative  of  un¬ 
rest,  the  so-called  “  minor  state  of  siege  ”  provided  for 
by  the  Act  was  imposed  upon  Berlin  and  its  surround¬ 
ings,  and  a  large  number  of  the  Social  Democratic 
Party,  most  of  them  fathers  of  families,  were  expelled 
from  Berlin  and  its  vicinity. 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  what  agitation  the 
telegrams  relating  to  these  events  caused  us,  who  were 
members  of  the  party,  in  our  solitary  corner  of  the 
world,  and  with  what  feverish  excitement  we  looked  for 
letters  and  newspapers  from  Germany,  which  might 
inform  us  more  exactly  as  to  what  had  happened.  The 
newspapers  appearing  in  Lugano  itself  left  us  completely 

in  the  lurch  in  this  respect.  Professor  P - i’s  Republi- 

oano  was  devoted  entirely  to  the  local  political  conflict, 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


57 


and  the  only  daily  paper  published  in  Lugano,  and,  I 
think,  in  the  canton, — the  Gazetta  Ticinese ,  a  modest  little 
sheet  in  small  folio, — gave  the  little  foreign  news  that 
appeared  in  a  concentrated  form,  reduced  to  a  few  lines. 

And  the  dispatch  of  news  from  Germany  was  now 
attended  by  peculiar  difficulties.  It  was  the  season 
when  the  Gotthard  Pass  is  for  a  time  impracticable 
owing  to  the  heavy  snows.  Many  a  time  the  letters  and 
newspapers  intended  for  us  lay  for  days  at  some  posting- 
station  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  on  the  farther 
side,  waiting  until  the  navvies  should  have  cut  a  road 
through  the  snow.  At  such  times  the  postman,  who 
came  up  to  Casa  in  Valle  only  once  daily,  and  was  long¬ 
ingly  awaited  by  us,  would  shout  out  his  “  Niente  per 
voi,  il  Gottardo  chiuso  ” ;  so  that  unless  we  were  willing 
to  wait  in  patience  for  what  the  next  day  should  bring 
forth,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  our  way  down 
to  Lugano  in  the  afternoon,  to  inquire  at  the  post  office 
whether  anything  for  us  had  arrived  in  the  meantime, 
and  then  to  look  through  the  Milanese  Secolo  and  the 
Journal  de  Geneve  for  news  from  Germany.  It  was 
almost  always  bad  news  that  we  read  there  :  fresh  pro¬ 
hibitions,  fresh  expulsions,  and  even  arrests.  Not  a 
few  of  those  expelled,  and  those  whose  businesses  had 
been  seriously  damaged,  or  who  had  been  actually 
left  without  a  livelihood,  were  people  with  whom  we  had 
been  particularly  intimate.  What  was  to  become  of 
those  who  had  been  so  harshly  treated  ?  and  what  about 
the  printing-presses  ?  A  periodical  printing  business 
which  is  suddenly  forbidden  to  print  newspapers  is 
rendered  almost  completely  valueless ;  its  heavy 
machinery  has  suddenly  become  only  so  much  old  iron. 
This  was  explained  in  the  letters  which  we  so  anxiously 
awaited.  From  all  sides  one  heard  nothing  but 
descriptions  of  the  disasters  of  one  kind  or  another  which 
had  fallen  upon  the  members  of  our  party. 


58 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


It  was  only  natural  that  under  such  circumstances  a 
man  like  Hochberg,  who  was  well  known  to  the  in¬ 
itiated  members  of  the  party  as  a  wealthy  sympathiser, 
should  receive  all  sorts  of  appeals  for  help.  It  should  be 
added,  to  the  honour  of  the  party,  that  such  appeals 
were  not  altogether  too  numerous.  For  the  victims  of 
expulsion  considerable  sums  were  collected  on  the  spot 
in  working-class  circles.  These  were  sufficient  to  meet 
the  most  urgent  cases  of  need,  and  with  few  exceptions 
the  excluded  persons  themselves  did  their  best  to  relieve 
the  party  as  promptly  as  possible  of  the  necessity  of 
providing  for  them,  or  at  least  to  facilitate  such  provision, 
in  which  their  comrades  in  the  localities  to  which  they 
had  now  repaired  assisted  them  to  the  utmost  of  their 
ability.  The  appeals  which  reached  Hochberg  were 
mostly  in  respect  of  business  undertakings  conducted 
either  by  the  party  itself  or  by  members  of  the  party 
who  were  in  an  exposed  position.  This  meant,  as  a  rule, 
that  large  amounts  of  money  were  needed,  but  that,  for 
Hochberg,  was  no  reason  for  refusing  his  help. 

One  might  even  say  :  Quite  the  contrary.  It  soon 
struck  me  that  Hochberg’s  readiness  to  help  increased 
in  proportion  to  the  sum  required.  If  any  one  applied 
to  him  for  a  small  loan — say  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
marks — he  ran  a  considerable  risk  of  refusal.  But  if 
any  one  requested  or  suggested  that  he  should  make  a 
contribution  or  a  loan  of  £250  to  £500,  the  probability 
was  just  as  great  that  the  sum  would  be  forthcoming 
without  much  delay.  When  I  questioned  Hochberg  one 
day  as  to  this  apparent  contradiction,  he  replied,  not 
illogically :  “  People  who  want  to  borrow  small  sums 
usually  come  to  me  when  they  could  obtain  help  in  other 
ways,  but  the  large  sums  are  applied  for  in  cases  of 
serious  necessity,  and  I  do  not  care  to  be  responsible  for 
refusing  them.”  In  general,  he  was  certainly  doing  the 
right  thing  in  so  behaving.  His  refusals  of  loans  to 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


59 


individuals  were  also  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  fairly 
pessimistic  in  his  opinions  of  the  human  race.  Although 
four  years  younger  than  I,  a  difference  which  is  usually 
an  important  factor  at  the  age  we  had  then  attained, 
he  was  decidedly  my  superior  in  knowledge  of  the  world. 
It  is  true  that  I  was  born  and  reared  in  the  capital,  but 
of  what  we  call  ‘‘the  world”  I  knew  nothing  except 
in  theory.  My  father’s  trade — he  was  a  railway  engine- 
driver — was  responsible  for  the  fact  that  we  had  always 
lived  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  city,  and  since  his  income 
was  very  small,  while  he  was  blessed  with  many  children, 
we  could  only  manage  to  live  in  houses  built  for  the 
poorer  classes — for  “  small  people,”  as  we  call  them. 
For  this  reason  I  was  closely  in  touch  with  the  poorer 
classes  of  society,  but  my  knowledge  of  humanity  re¬ 
mained  extremely  defective.  My  judgment  was  purely 
sentimental,  while  Hochberg  judged  his  fellows  almost 
entirely  by  intellectual  criteria.  This  was  one  of  the 
reasons  why  for  a  long  time  we  did  not  get  into  closer 
spiritual  communion,  although  we  never  actually  lapsed 
into  conflict.  Another  reason  was  the  fact  that  our 
conceptions  of  the  universe  were  discordant.  I  adhered 
to  the  materialistic  conception,  and  would  not  hear  of 
any  sort  of  religion  ;  but  Hochberg,  who  was  a  philo- 
'  sophical  idealist,  conceded  more  than  a  merely  historical 
justification  to  the  metaphysical  religions  and  conceptions 
of  the  universe.  We  should  perhaps  have  succeeded 
in  understanding  one  another  in  this  connection  had  not 
Hochberg,  greatly  to  my  chagrin,  always  declined  my 
repeated  challenge  to  develop  his  views  for  once  in 
strict  continuity,  on  the  grounds  that  I  should  need  a 
philosophical  training  to  understand  him ;  and  this 
I  had  not  received.  I  was  not  willing  to  admit  this, 
for  in  my  opinion  at  least  the  basic  ideas  of  a  philosophic 
conception  must  be  capable  of  representation,  so  that 
a  non-philosophical  person  of  tolerable  education  could 


60 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


comprehend  them.  In  the  meantime,  Hochberg  abode 
by  his  refusal,  so  that  whenever  our  conversation  turned 
upon  this  subject,  it  always  ended  in  discord. 

Later  on  I  had  an  opportunity  of  reading  a  letter  of 
Hochberg’s  to  Richard  Avenarius,  with  whom  he  was  on 
terms  of  friendship,  and  I  saw  by  this  that  at  that  time 
Hochberg,  proceeding  from  Berkeley  and  Kant,  had 
arrived  at  a  philosophy  which  represented  the  world 
as  a  sum  of  sensations.  The  argument  employed  was 
such  as  Avenarius,  the  critic  of  pure  experience,  raised 
t  strong  objections  to. 

The  fact  that  we  were  almost  the  reverse  of  one 
another  in  our  opinions  of  mundane  matters,  as  in  the 
theoretical  conception  of  the  universe,  caused  Hochberg, 
one  day,  as  I  was  unpacking  a  parcel  of  books,  and 
expressing  my  enthusiasm  for  Freiligrath’s  poems,  to 
make  the  remark,  which  was  illuminating  in  respect 
of  our  contradictory  opinions :  “You  are  much  more 
religious  than  I  am.” 

It  is  certainly  true  that  one  may  sometimes  discover 
a  religious  impulse  at  the  back  of  hostility  towards  the 
ecclesiastical  religions.  In  my  case  this  hostility  had 
hitherto  been  so  extreme  that  for  years  no  human  being, 
and  no  consideration  for  those  I  loved,  could  have  in¬ 
duced  me  to  sit  through  a  religious  service.  To  me  it 
would  have  seemed  a  double  falsehood  :  I  should  have 
been  untrue  to  myself,  and  have  given  the  faithful  a 
false  impression.  So  that  once,  when  some  one  who  was 
about  to  be  married  in  church,  for  whom  I  ought  to  have 
acted  as  best  man,  tried  to  put  an  acceptable  face  on 
the  matter  by  saying,  “You  may  just  as  well  do  it : 
we  too  ” — his  bride  and  his  family — “  are  unbelievers,” 
my  rejoinder  was,  “  Then  I  am  all  the  less  likely  to 
do  it.”  The  result  was  a  pretty  catastrophe.  It  was 
in  Castagnola  that  I  at  last  went  to  church  again,  after 
many,  many  years.  And  this  is  how  it  happened. 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


61 


One  day  we  were  invited  to  have  midday  dinner  with 
the  village  priest,  the  brother  of  our  Prudenza  Prati. 
Prudenza  had  enlarged  upon  the  coming  event  weeks 
before  it  came.  Four  or  five  other  priests  would  be 
visiting  her  brother — but  in  speaking  of  her  brother 
Prudenza  never  used  the  words  "  my  brother  ”  ;  she 
always  said,  respectfully,  "  il  prete  ”  (the  priest).  For 
good  or  evil  we  had  to  accept  the  invitation,  but  at  the 
last  moment  Hochberg  made  some  excuse  and  begged 
me  to  go  alone.  I  did  so,  not  without  a  great  deal  of 
pressure.  To  dine  with  half  a  dozen  Catholic  priests — 
what  was  the  sense  of  that  ?  For  example,  how  should 
I  behave  during  the  almost  inevitable  prayers  ?  Byron's 
words  about  dissembling  with  the  power  of  forty  parsons 
kept  on  going  through  my  head.  But  my  fears  proved 
to  be  unfounded.  Things  were  not  in  the  least  ecclesi¬ 
astical  at  the  house  of  the  “  prete."  Prayer  was  not 
mentioned  at  table ;  they  talked  of  everything 
imaginable,  but  not  of  heavenly  affairs.  To  my  right 
sat  an  old  patrician  lady  from  the  Grison,  who  was 
living  with  her  daughter  and  son-in-law  in  a  villa  situated 
on  the  mountain  not  far  from  Casa  in  Valle.  Below  the 
garden  of  their  villa  was  a  ravine,  concerning  which 
this  lady  told  me,  when  I  spoke  of  the  picturesque  situa¬ 
tion  of  the  villa,  that  it  was  a  perfect  nest  of  snakes. 
Her  daughter’s  children,  if  they  played  in  the  garden, 
were  always  in  danger  of  being  bitten  by  vipers,  so  that 
they  had  always  to  keep  an  antidote  to  snake- venom  in 
the  house.  A  priest  sitting  on  my  left  now  joined  in  the 
conversation,  and  related  how  as  a  young  man  he  used 
often  to  kill  snakes — which  after  a  fall  of  rain  would 
creep  out  of  the  walls  to  sun  themselves — with  a  good 
blow  on  the  head  from  a  stick,  in  order  to  take  them  home 
and  skin  them  and  have  them  roasted.  They  had  always 
provided  him  with  a  good  savoury  supper.  This  man, 
who  evidently  sprang  from  the  poorer  classes,  told  us 


62 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


also  all  sorts  of  things  about  the  way  in  which  he  had 
obtained  inexpensive  titbits  for  himself  in  his  youth. 
He  spoke  fairly  good  German,  which  he  was  learning 
because  he  intended,  when  he  had  settled  down,  to  go 
sometime  or  other  to  that  much- visited  place  of  pilgrim¬ 
age  in  the  Canton  Schwyz,  which  is  honoured  by  the 
faithful  on  account  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Meinrad, 
and  the  statue  of  the  Black  Virgin,  and  by  unbelievers 
as  the  birthplace  of  that  mystical  philosopher  and 
pioneer  in  medical  science,  Theophrastus  Paracelsus 
vom  Hohenheim. 

Directly  after  the  meal  was  ended  we  were  informed 
that  the  afternoon  service  was  about  to  begin  in  the  little 
church  beside  the  presbytery,  and  that  every  one  was 
free  to  attend  it  or  not.  I  decided  to  attend  it,  since  as 
a  foreigner  and  a  non-Catholic  no  one  could  doubt  that 
the  object  of  my  attendance  was  merely  to  witness  the 
service  as  a  guest ;  meanwhile  aliquid  hcsrebat.  In  the 
mountain  village,  with  its  scattered  houses,  and  a  popula¬ 
tion  to  whom  any  intellectual  stimulus  was  as  good  as 
unknown,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  church  was  less 
repugnant  to  common  sense  than  in  the  capital,  with  its 
abundant  possibilities  of  rationalistic  intellectual  im¬ 
provement,  and  its  churchgoers  who  attended  worship 
out  of  sheer  conventionality. 

But  let  us  return  to  Casa  in  Valle.  The  fortnightly 
review,  Die  Zukunft,  edited  by  Karl  Hochberg,  was  very 
soon  prohibited  under  the  anti-Socialist  laws,  although 
it  was  devoted  merely  to  the  statement  and  development 
of  Socialistic  doctrines,  and  endeavoured  above  all  to 
base  these  doctrines  upon  ethical  principles,  avoiding  all 
discussions  of  the  political  events  and  questions  of  the 
day.  With  the  disappearance  of  this  periodical,  The 
greater  part  of  the  activities  for  which  Hdchberg  had 
engaged  me  were  abolished  ;  meanwhile  the  editorial 
correspondence  was  replaced  by  correspondence  with 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


63 


comrades  in  the  centre  of  the  movement  relating  to  the 
mitigation  of  the  distress  which  the  anti-Socialist  laws 
had  inflicted  and  were  still  inflicting  upon  individuals, 
and  the  damage  they  had  done  and  were  still  doing  to 
business.  Apart  from  this,  Hochberg  was  not  inclined 
to  accept  the  suppression  of  Die  Zukunft  without  pro¬ 
test.  Of  course,  it  was  useless  to  expect  a  removal  of  the 
prohibition  from  the  so-called  Imperial  Commission, 
which  was  appointed  as  a  court  of  appeal  against  the 
enactments  of  the  police  authorities  under  the  Act. 
The  members  of  this  Commission,  drawn  from  the  higher 
magistracy,  appeared  to  have  been  appointed  merely  for 
the  purpose  of  finding  arguments  to  uphold  the  pro¬ 
hibitions  imposed  by  the  police.  Only  when  an  over- 
zealous  police  official  suppressed  the  volume  on  Die 


Quintessenz  des  Socialismus ,  by  the  Swabian  Professor 
and  sometime  Austrian  Cabinet  Minister,  A.  E.  Schaffle, 
did  the  Imperial  Commission  undo  this  stroke  of  genius 
and  remove  the  prohibition. 

This  volume  of  Schaffle’s,  published  in  1874,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  educated  public,  was  impartially  written, 
if  it  was  not  an  absolutely  correct  representation  of  the 
Socialist  doctrine  as  then  understood.  It  was  no  excuse 
nor  apology,  yet  in  spite  of  a  few  incidentally  critical 
remarks  it  was  not  a  hostile  criticism  of  Socialism. 
Hochberg,  who  was  particularly  anxious  to  gain  adherents 
for  the  cause  in  academic  and  cultivated  circles,  now 


decided  to  endeavour  to  do  this  by  the  wholesale  dis¬ 
tribution  of  Schaffle’s  treatise  ;  for  he  was  persuaded 
that  people  with  a  fully  developed  sense  of  justice  had 
only  to  learn  more  of  Socialism  in  order  to  become  warmly 
interested  in  it.  Having  obtained  Schaffle’s  consent, 
he  therefore  ordered  no  less  than  10,000  copies  of 
the  Quintessence  of  Socialism  from  the  publisher, 
which  we  had  forwarded,  with  the  help  of  all  sorts 
of  directories,  lists  of  addresses,  etc.,  to  budding  and 


64 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


officiating  lawyers,  doctors,  professors,  etc.,  all  over 
Germany. 

These  volumes  cannot  have  made  an  excessive  number 
of  converts,  but  as  regards  some  of  those  who  received 
them,  the  seed  may  have  fallen  on  good  soil,  and  in  any 
case  this  was  a  first  step  towards  the  revival  of  Socialist 
propaganda  under  the  ban  of  the  “  exceptional  laws/' 
Not  contented  with  distributing  Schaffle’s  little  book  in 
Germany,  Hochberg  also  got  Benoit  Malon  to  translate 
it  into  French,  with  the  assistance  of  Mme  Malon,  at 
his  expense. 

For  the  German  public  he  now  founded  a  scientific 
periodical,  which  was  published  by  a  Zurich  publishing 
house  under  the  title  of  Jahrbuch  der  Social  wissenschaft 
und  Sozialpolitik,  and  edited  by  Dr.  Ludwig  Richter. 
The  first  half-volume  was  scarcely  published  when  this 
too  fell  under  the  ban  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws.  If  the 
authorities  who  decreed  the  prohibition  had  read  the 
book  a  little  more  closely  and  with  a  little  intelligence 
they  would  have  thought  twice  before  putting  it  on  the 
Index,  for  it  contained  concessions  to  the  critics  of 
Social  Democracy  which  evoked  a  great  deal  of  ill-feeling 
in  the  Socialist  camp. 

All  this  was  still  in  embryo  when  Hochberg  paid  a 
visit  to  Germany  in  January  1879,  in  order  to  investigate 
the  new  conditions  on  the  spot.  This  journey  was  to 
teach  him  a  lesson  for  which  he  was  not  prepared.  He 
remained  for  a  few  days  in  Berlin  ;  and  on  the  second, 
or,  at  latest,  the  third  day  of  his  visit,  he  received  an 
order  from  the  prefecture  of  police  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  expelled  from  Berlin  under  §  28  of  the  anti-Socialist 
laws,  and  must  leave  the  city  within  so  many  hours. 
The  paragraph  referred  to  provided  for  the  expulsion  of 
“  Persons  from  whom  danger  to  the  public  order  or 
security  is  to  be  feared." 

The  quiet  scholar,  whose  ideology  was  based  wholly 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


65 


upon  ethics,  was  a  danger  to  the  public  “  order  or 
security  ”  of  the  capital ! 

Now  Hochberg  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  » 
prefect  of  the  Berlin  police,  Herr  von  Madai,  as  he  had  : 
formerly  been  prefect  in  Frankfurt,  and  had  not  dis¬ 
dained  to  avail  himself  of  frequent  invitations  to  dinner 
at  the  houses  of  the  Frankfurt  bankers.  It  was  in  such  . 
society  that  Hochberg  had  met  him.  He  now  called 
upon  him,  and  requested  to  be  told  how  it  was  that  j 
he  was  threatened  with  expulsion  ;  what  he  was  sup¬ 
posed  to  have  done  in  Berlin  that  was  contrary  to  law 
and  order,  that  such  a  measure  should  be  evoked  against 
him.  “  Oh,”  was  the  reply,  “  of  course  you  haven’t 
done  anything  directly  inimical  to  order.  But  you 
have  been  in  the  company  of  Messrs.  A,  B,  and  C,  and 
they  are  people  whom  we  know  to  be  Socialists,  who 
used  to  belong  to  the  ‘  Mohren  Club,’  and  possibly  still 
belong  to  it.”  The  “  Mohren  Club  ”  was  the  name 
adopted  by  a  group  of  Socialists,  most  of  them  present 
or  past  students,  who  in  the  winter  of  1877  and  the 
spring  of  1878  used  to  meet  weekly  in  the  Mohren- 
Strasse  (Street  of  the  Moors),  for  purposes  of  social 
entertainment,  and  for  the  discussion  of  theoretical 
questions  ;  and  some  of  them  continued  their  meetings, 
which  were  not  in  any  way  culpable,  even  after  the 
promulgation  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws.  Because 
Hochberg,  who  had  repeatedly  been  a  guest  of  the 
Club,  had  called  upon  some  of  its  individual  members, 
who  had  not  themselves  been  regarded  as  sufficiently 
dangerous  to  merit  expulsion,  he  had  suddenly  been 
ordered  to  leave  the  city,  without  examination  or  trial, 
and  his  expulsion  had  been  announced  in  the  Press. 
This  exploit  on  the  part  of  the  police  was  probably 
undertaken  with  the  idea  of  punishing  a  wealthy  Socialist 
for  the  support  which  he  had  obtained  for  the  outlawed 
party  ;  but  the  reports  as  to  Hochberg’s  intercourse 
5 


66 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


with  the  Socialists  had  undoubtedly  been  furnished  by 
a  student  who  turned  out,  later  on,  to  have  been  bought 
by  the  police. 

After  Hochberg’s  return  from  Germany  it  soon 
became  obvious  that  we  should  not  be  able  to  continue 
living  in  Casa  in  Valle.  His  health  was  becoming 
visibly  worse,  and  his  energies  were  diminishing  more  and 
more  as  a  result  of  his  starvation  diet.  Since  no  amount 
of  preaching  could  avail  to  wean  him  from  it,  I  tried 
finally  to  do  so  by  a  coup  d'etat.  One  day  Hochberg 
came  to  me  with  a  telegram  in  his  hand,  and  said  ex¬ 
citedly  :  “  Good  God,  my  brother  is  coming  to  Lugano  ! 
I  must  do  everything  I  can  to  recover  strength  ;  I 
can’t  receive  him  in  this  condition.”  I  appeared  to  be 
as  surprised  as  I  could,  but  in  reality  my  only  feeling 
was  one  of  satisfaction.  A  letter  from  myself  to  Dr. 
Karl  Flesch,  in  which  I  explained  the  state  of  affairs, 
and  declared  that  assistance  was  urgently  necessary, 
had  not  remained  without  effect.  Flesch  had  put  me 
into  communication  with  Hochberg’s  younger  brother, 
and  the  latter  had  forthwith  decided  to  come  to  Lugano 
himself,  on  the  ingenious  pretext  of  a  necessary  business 
visit  to  Milan.  As  one  result  of  his  visit  Hochberg  at 
once  made  some  alteration  in  his  manner  of  living  ;  and 
he  then  began  seriously  to  consider  the  question  of 
removing  to  some  other  locality.  The  climate  of 
Lugano  had  not  turned  out  to  be  so  mild  as  he  had 
anticipated ;  but  the  delays  in  the  postal  service  were 
even  more  disturbing.  We  ought  at  once  to  settle 
down  in  some  part  of  Switzerland  where  there  was  a 
better  postal  connection  with  Germany. 

To  me  this  was  not  particularly  welcome.  I  had 
gradually  advanced  so  far  in  the  Italian  language  that 
a  few  months  longer  in  an  Italian-speaking  country 
would  have  enabled  me  to  speak  Italian  with  a  fair 
degree  of  facility.  To  discontinue  the  use  of  the 


A  BITTER  WINTER  IN  LUGANO 


67 


language  suddenly  at  this  stage  would  mean  that  I 
should  be  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  little  I  had  picked 
up  ;  and  this  apprehension  proved  to  be  only  too  well 
founded. 

Moreover,  the  spring  was  returning,  and  the 
luxurious  vegetation  of  Lugano  was  breaking  forth 
with  increasing  vigour.  Even  by  the  end  of  March  the 
camellias  were  beginning  to  bloom  in  the  open  air ;  in 
the  terraced  hillside  garden  of  the  Villa  Riva  camellia 
bushes  of  prodigious  dimensions  were  now  a  splendour 
of  blossoms.  At  the  same  time  the  fruit  trees  of  the 
lower  slopes  of  Monte  Bre  were  beginning  to  blossom, 
which  greatly  increased  the  charm  of  the  view  over 
mountain  and  lake  from  Casa  in  Valle.  Some  fifty 
yards  below  our  house  they  were  beginning  to  build  a 
villa ;  lighters  brought  lime  and  stone  from  various 
parts  to  the  beach,  and  working  women  carried  the 
material  in  baskets  up  the  winding  paths  of  the  mountain¬ 
side.  Coming  up  they  naturally  walked  slowly,  step  by 
step,  bent  in  silence  beneath  their  heavy  loads  ;  but 
going  down  with  empty  baskets  most  of  them  sang 
verses  of  one  of  their  folk-songs,  in  the  long-drawn 
minor  tones  peculiar  thereto ;  and  it  was  a  most 
fascinating  sight  to  see  them  wandering  light-footed 
down  the  winding  track.  All  these  things  combined 
to  make  it  difficult  for  me  to  tear  myself  away  from 
Castagnola. 

It  was  a  consolation  that  we  were  going  to  Geneva. 
But  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  beauty  of  the  country¬ 
side  surrounding  Geneva,  and  even  its  more  stirring 
political  life  seemed  to  me  at  first  of  secondary  import¬ 
ance  ;  I  was  thinking  chiefly,  in  a  wholly  crude  and 
utilitarian  fashion,  of  the  possibilities  of  perfecting 
myself  in  another  foreign  language — namely,  the  French. 
But  this  was  not  to  be.  Hochberg  did  indeed  go  to 
Geneva  in  order  to  look  for  lodgings  there,  while  I 


68 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


stayed  at  home  packing  trunks  and  boxes  against  our 
removal.  Then  suddenly  a  telegram  arrived  :  “We  are 
going  to  Zurich,  come  on  there  as  quickly  as  possible.” 
I  was  flabbergasted ;  my  hopes  were  dashed  to  the 
ground.  I  had  conceived  an  absurd  prejudice  against 
Zurich  as  the  result  of  a  passing  remark  made  by  an 
acquaintance  of  mine  ;  I  had  no  suspicion  that  the 
friendly  city  on  the  Limmat  would  grow  so  dear  to  my 
heart  that  it  seems  to  me  even  to-day  like  another  home. 
However,  there  was  no  choice,  and  since  the  Gotthard 
Pass  was  once  more  blocked — this  time  by  a  spring 
snowfall — I  travelled  by  way  of  Milan,  Turin,  and 
Geneva  to  the  Swiss  Athens,  which  was  to  be  my 
dwelling-place  for  nine  years.  I  entered  Zurich  with 
much  the  same  feelings  as  those  which  the  patriarch 
Jacob  must  have  experienced  when  he  sought  Rachel 
for  his  wife  and  was  given  Leah. 


CHAPTER  IV 
IN  ZURICH 


r  URICH,  in  the  year  when  I  first  arrived  there — in 
f  1879 — was  almost  as  different  from  the  Zurich 

^  of  to-day  as  the  Lugano  of  that  period  from 
Lugano  as  it  is  to-day.  It  contained,  with  its  eight  or 
nine  still  independent  suburbs,  little  more  than  half  the 
number  of  inhabitants  which  Greater  Zurich,  now  united 
with  the  suburbs,  can  boast  of  at  the  present  time.  It 
lacked  as  yet  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  splendid 
buildings  and  tasteful  pleasure-grounds  which  adorn  it 
to-day,  and  the  great  majority  of  its  dwelling-houses  and 
business  quarters  still  displayed  a  sort  of  local  colour. 
In  the  southern  portion  of  the  city,  it  is  true,  there 
were  already,  in  the  Bahnhofstrasse,  and  a  few  small  side 
streets  which  stood  in  architectural  relationship  to  it, 
many  fine  buildings  in  the  modern  or  the  pseudo-classic 
style.  And  in  the  suburbs,  as  well  as  on  the  adjacent 
heights,  there  was  no  lack  of  villas,  some  of  which  were 
even  palatial ;  but  the  great  majority  of  dwelling-houses 
and  business  houses  alike  were  to  be  found  either  in  the 
narrow,  crooked  streets  of  the  old  hilly  town,  where, 
indefensible  as  they  might  be  from  the  hygienic  point 
of  view,  they  were  of  the  greatest  interest  as  memorials 
of  a  past  civilisation,  or  in  the  new  streets,  which  were 
then  only  partially  built,  in  which  case  they  were  mostly 
p.  sort  of  cross  between  a  modern  city  dwelling-house 
and  the  type  of  house  to  be  met  with  in  a  country  town. 
The  Zurich  of  those  days  was,  to  a  great  extent,  a  com- 

69 


70 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


bination  of  village,  market-town,  and  capital.  In  some 
places  the  meadows  and  vineyards  extended  into  Greater 
Zurich,  almost  reaching  the  bounds  of  the  old  city,  and 
any  one  visiting  the  tomb  of  the  gifted  Georg  Buchner, 
which  was  situated  on  the  Germaniahugel  on  the  Ziirich- 
berg,  past  the  suburb  of  Fluntern,  still  came  upon 
genuine  farmhouses  of  the  well-known  Swiss  type.  Now 
that  part  of  the  hill  which  lies  about  Buchner’s  grave, 
and  which  was  in  those  days  a  wilderness,  is  covered, 
with  villas,  between  which  a  road  leads  past  their 
beautiful  gardens,  affording  a  most  delightful  walk  in 
summer.  But  if  one  escapes  from  this  confusion  of 
villas  and  seeks  out  the  grave,  it  is  difficult  to  recover 
the  mood  which  the  latter  once  evoked,  in  its  lonely 
situation,  in  the  wanderer  who  reached  it  from  Fluntern 
or  Oberstrass,  over  the  heather-clad  slopes.  For  him 
it  was  a  place  of  repose  ;  for  the  wanderer  of  to-day  it 
is  scarcely  an  occasion  for  a  moment’s  halt,  and  of  the 
many  thousands  who  vouchsafe  it  a  glance  only  a  very 
few  know  anything  definite  of  the  poet  who  wrote  the 
tragedy  D anions  Tod,  as  well  as  the  revolutionary 
Landbote  Hessische,  and  to  whom  Georg  Herwegh 
dedicated  the  noble  poem  beginning  with  the  words : 

f  “  So  once  again  a  splendour  is  laid  low, 

Again  thou  robb’st  us  of  a  halo’d  head  ; 

The  viper  ’twixt  thy  feet  may  scathless  go  ; 

The  nestling  eagle  dies  beneath  thy  tread.”  1 

From  this  poem,  too,  were  borrowed  the  lines  engraved 
on  the  tombstone  : 

“  An  uncompleted  song  the  grave  receives  : 

His  noblest  poems  are  not  those  he  leaves.”  2 

- 4 -  -  — ■  —  — . - . . . . . . . — — - - — 

1  ”  So  hat  ein  Purpur  wieder  fallen  miissen. 

Hast  eine  Krone  wieder  uns  geraubt, 

Du  schonst  die  Schlange  zwischen  deinen  Fiissen, 

Und  trittst  dem  jungen  Adler  auf  das  Haupt.” 

2  “  Ein  unvollendet  Lied  sinkt  er  ins  Grab, 

Der  Verse  schonsten  nimmt  er  mit  hinab.” 


IN  ZURICH 


71 


Herwegh  also  had  found  a  second  home  in  Zurich. 
The  house  which  he  finally  inhabited  stood  on  the  upper 
edge  of  a  green  slope  opposite  the  Canton  school,  and 
in  my  time  it  was  as  open  there  as  in  the  lifetime  of 
the  “  great  Swabian  child.”  To-day  it  is  surrounded 
by  University  buildings. 

A  similar  fate  has  overtaken  many  houses  which, 
when  I  knew  them,  were  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 
city,  and  were  surrounded  by  gardens  or  uncultivated 
land.  Again,  many  houses  and  groups  of  houses  which 
were  still  standing  in  my  time  have  been  fated  to  dis¬ 
appear  in  order  that  the  streets  might  be  widened,  and 
all  sorts  of  interesting  corners  and  houses  with  a  history 
went  to  join  the  kingdom  of  the  Past  during  the  years 
when  Zurich  was  in  process  of  being  transformed  into 
Greater  Zurich,  growing  in  all  directions  and  in  all  sorts 
of  ways,  and  becoming,  in  a  greater  degree  than  before, 
a  centre  of  industry  and  a  resort  of  foreigners. 

In  every  respect  the  Zurich  of  1879  was  a  different 
city  from  the  Zurich  of  to-day.  To  take  only  the  outer 
aspect  of  the  city,  there  was  then  no  trace  of  the  splendid 
quay  which  now  extends  to  such  a  length  along  the 
shore  of  the  Lake  of  Zurich.  The  shore  then  offered  a 
very  chaotic  picture  ;  in  one  place  the  wall  of  a  garden 
met  the  eye,  in  another  a  stretch  of  uncultivated  land, 
and  here  and  there  stood  houses  built  directly  upon 
the  edge  of  the  lake.  The  garden  of  the  old  Concert 
Hall  also  ran  right  down  to  the  lake.  The  hall  itself, 
a  very  much  plainer  building  than  its  successor  on  the 
Alpenkai,  stood  where  now  the  Utokai  branches  off 
from  the  Bellevueplatz.  But  one  heard  good  music 
even  in  those  days  in  the  old  Concert  Hall,  and  with 
the  simplicity  many  of  the  charms  have  disappeared. 
On  summer  evenings,  when  concerts  were  held  in  the 
garden,  a  number  of  pleasure  boats  always  collected 
inshore.  The  people  in  the  boats  enjoyed  the  music 


72 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


on  the  water,  and  in  the  intervals  paddled  up  to  the 
balustrade  of  the  garden,  so  that  a  waiter  could  reach 
drinks  down  to  them  ;  or  sometimes  they  chatted  with 
members  of  the  audience  who  stood  by  the  balustrade. 
It  was  all  very  cheerful.  When  I  first  became  closely 
acquainted  with  the  lake — and  I  became  very  intimate 
with  it  in  the  course  of  time — the  summer  evenings  upon 
the  water  provided  one  of  my  favourite  recreations. 
They  were  glorious.  One  rowed  quickly  out  over  the 
wide-spreading  waters,  and  surrendered  oneself  to  the 
magic  of  the  night,  which  was  only  enhanced  by  the 
snatches  of  music  wafted  from  the  distance ;  and, 
presently,  rowing  back  again,  one  listened,  at  a  suitable 
distance,  to  one  or  two  items  of  the  programme,  finally 
rowing  so  close  to  the  garden  that  one’s  attention  was 
once  more  diverted  from  the  music  by  all  that  was  going 
on  around  one.  The  new  Concert  Hall  is  a  handsomer 
building  than  the  old,  and  affords  a  still  more  captivating 
outlook  upon  the  Alps,  but  homeliness  and  comfort 
have  been  sacrificed  in  the  change  of  locality. 

One  might  say  the  same  thing  of  various  alterations 
which  distinguish  the  new  Zurich  from  the  old.  It  is 
painful  for  the  nature-loving  wanderer  to  find  that  large 
tracts  of  the  beautiful  wooded  portions  of  the  Zurich- 
berg  are  to-day  private  property,  surrounded  by  wire 
fencing  ;  and  there  are  certainly  many  who  would  be 
willing  to  forgo  the  larger  and  more  smartly  appointed 
inns  of  the  present  time  for  the  very  much  simpler 
establishments  of  the  old  days,  where  one  sat  upon  a 
roughly-made  bench  at  a  rough  wooden  table,  and  where 
one  could  obtain  little  more  than  plain  wine,  bread,  and 
cheese,  could  one  only  do  away  with  the  aforesaid  fences. 
There  are  those  who  would  make  the  exchange  even 
without  this  negative  addition.  How  exhilarating  it 
used  to  be  to  rest  on  the  summit,  when  as  yet  no  cog¬ 
wheel  railway  ran  up  to  it ;  where  one  could  commune 


IN  ZURICH 


73 


in  thought,  over  a  simple  glass  of  wine,  with  our  princes 
of  poetry,  in  whose  days  the  outlook  was  essentially  the 
same  as  then  ! 

In  this  respect,  indeed,  social  life  underwent  less 
alteration  during  the  first  eight  decades  of  the  nineteenth 
century  than  in  the  following  lustrum. 

Other  times,  other  contrivances.  Now  one  not  only 
rides  to  the  summit  on  the  cog-wheel  railway,  but  from 
another  part  one  can  take  the  train  for  some  distance 
up  the  Zurichberg,  nearly  as  far  as  the  garden  hostelry 
now  known  as  Beau  Sejour.  In  my  time  the  natives 
called  it  the  “  Rinderknecht  ”  ;  not  because  of  any  pre¬ 
judice  against  the  French  language,  but  with  reference  to 
the  proprietor.  To-day,  perhaps,  the  train  goes  even 
farther  up  the  hill,  and  for  people  to  whom  climbing  is 
difficult  this  would  certainly  be  a  great  advantage.  And 
no  architectural  changes  can  rob  of  its  beauty  the 
wonderful  view  from  the  Zurichberg,  across  the  lake,  of 
the  peaks  of  the  Alpine  chain  that  runs  through  central 
Switzerland  and  over  the  Albis  range  to  Rigi,  Pilatus, 
and  the  Berner  Alps.  But  the  nearer  surroundings  have 
to  my  eyes  lost  much  of  their  charm. 

It  is  as  well  that  human  beings  die.  Every  man 
becomes  a  romantic  when  he  has  passed  his  fiftieth  year. 
However  closely  the  intellect  keeps  step  with  the  times, 
the  emotions  are  more  and  more  concerned  with  the  past. 
But  in  the  meantime  a  new  generation  has  arisen  which 
knows  nothing  of  this  past,  and  which  can  find  no  place 
for  the  things  that  have  endeared  themselves  to  the  old. 

The  Zurich  of  1879  had  no  more  thought  of  a  railway 
up  the  Zurichberg  than  of  tram-lines  through  the  city 
and  the  more  or  less  level  suburbs.  But  the  people  of 
Zurich  did  not  seem  to  feel  the  lack  of  them  very  seriously. 
The  traffic  between  the  city  and  the  suburbs  was  not 
particularly  heavy ;  apparently  a  certain  commercial 
decentralisation  went  with  the  communal  decentralisa- 


74 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


tion.  And  it  did  not  greatly  trouble  the  native  of  Zurich 
that  a  great  part  of  his  city  was  built  on  hilly  ground, 
and  that  many  of  its  streets  were  always  climbing  up  or 
down  hill. 

It  was  otherwise  with  the  natives  of  Berlin,  accus¬ 
tomed  to  convenience  of  communication,  when  they 
came  to  Zurich.  “  Zurich  would  be  a  very  nice  town,” 
said  a  countryman  of  mine  one  day,  who  had  come  from 
the  Athens  on  the  Spree  to  the  Athens  on  the  Limmat, 
and  with  whom  I  was  walking  through  the  city,  “  if 
only  it  hadn’t  so  many  humps.”  I,  in  the  meantime, 
had  already  become  so  acclimatised  to  Zurich  that  I 
might  have  concluded  my  rejoinder,  with  a  slight  varia¬ 
tion,  in  the  words  of  the  poet  :  “Was  euch  es  widrig 
macht,  macht  mir  es  wert  ”  (That  which  mislikes  you 
doth  endear  it  to  me). 

On  my  arrival  in  Zurich  I  put  up  at  the  Sign  of  the 
Stork,  which  is  on  the  Weinplatz,  opposite  the  Sign  of  the 
Sword,  which  we  Germans  know  from  the  biographies 
of  Goethe  and  Fichte.  My  quarters  in  the  little-known 
Stork  Hotel  were  to  afford  me  an  unexpected  benefit. 

As  I  was  going  out  on  the  day  after  my  arrival  to  look 
for  lodgings  it  occurred  to  me  that  although  it  was  a 
weekday  the  streets  were  full  of  children  disporting 
themselves  in  festal  raiment,  some  of  them  in  hetero¬ 
geneous  costumes,  while  many  of  the  boys  were  carrying 
masks  in  their  hands.  Evidently  something  unusual  was 
afoot.  In  order  to  learn  what  it  was  I  turned  to  one 
of  the  gaily-dressed  boys  and  asked  him  why  they  were 
all  dressed  up.  I  had  to  repeat  my  question  several 
times  before  he  understood  what  I  wanted  to  know,  and 
then  he  vouchsafed  me  a  reply  of  which  I  could  make 
absolutely  nothing  :  “ ’s  isch  Sachzeliite.”  He  was  not 
able  to  explain  what  he  meant  by  that ;  he  stuck  firmly 
to  his  “ ’s  isch  Sachzeliite.”  And  every  child  to  whom 
I  addressed  the  same  question  during  my  wanderings 


75 


IN  ZURICH 

always  gave  me  the  stereotyped  reply :  “ ’s  isch 

Sachzeliite.”  I  felt  almost  like  the  man  in  Hebei’s  tale 
of  “  Kannitverstan  ”  (Can’t  understand).  At  last  I 
asked  an  adult  in  the  neighbourhood  of  my  hotel,  and 
was  informed  that  it  was  “  Sechselauten,”  and  that  a 
“  Bog  ”  would  be  burned  in  the  evening  on  the  Limmat. 
The  Sechselauten,  or  rather  the  Sechsuhrlautenfest 
(festival  of  the  six-o’clock  bell),  is  a  festival  dating  from 
the  days  of  the  guilds,  which  is  held  on  the  first  Monday 
in  spring,  when  the  close  of  the  working  day  is  an¬ 
nounced  by  pealing  the  bells  at  six  o’clock  in  the  evening. 
The  guilds  which  are  still  extant  in  Zurich  have  long  ago 
lost  all  economic  and  political  significance,  but  every 
year  they  hold  their  festival  on  the  evening  of  the  ap¬ 
pointed  day  by  a  feast,  accompanied — in  my  time,  at 
least — by  festive  drinking.  It  is  a  whole  holiday  for 
the  school  children,  who  dress  themselves  up  and  wear 
masks,  sometimes  forming  processions  in  characteristic 
costume,  while  every  fourth  or  fifth  year  all  Zurich  takes 
part  in  a  procession,  of  great  and  small,  all  in  costume, 
which  always  expresses  some  definite  idea,  and  in  which 
the  wealthier  participators  often  display  the  greatest 
luxury  in  their  appointments.  For  the  people,  the  con¬ 
clusion  of  the  festival  is  the  solemn  burning  of  the 
“  Bog,”  a  dummy  stuffed  with  inflammable  materials 
and  fireworks,  which  represents  some  generally  un¬ 
popular  person,  tendency,  or  power.  On  this  occasion 
the  burning  of  the  “  Bog  ”  was  intended  as  a  demonstra¬ 
tion  against  the  old  Zurich  theatre,  which  certainly 
looked,  from  the  outside,  more  like  a  stables  than  a 
theatre,  and  whose  capacity  and  internal  appointments 
no  longer  sufficed  to  satisfy  the  requirements  of  the 
people.  Without  wishing  to  dissent  from  this  opinion, 
I  may  nevertheless  mention  that  I  have  witnessed  many 
performances  in  this  old  building  which  have  given  me 
the  greatest  satisfaction.  Precisely  because  the  theatre 


76 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


was  only  of  moderate  size,  it  was  possible,  for  instance, 
in  dialogue,  to  develop  a  feeling  of  intimacy  between  the 
stage  and  the  auditorium  which  made  for  delicacy  of 
acting,  and  in  opera  again  the  beauty  of  many  voices 
was  realised  to  much  greater  advantage  in  a  small 
space  than  in  the  large  opera-houses.  The  performances 
of  opera  in  Zurich,  under  the  management  of  Lothar 
Kempter,  were  often  admirable,  as  regards  both  orchestra 
and  soloists.  The  chorus,  to  be  sure,  not  infrequently 
observed  a  great  deal  too  closely  the  rule  of  the  great 
Aristotle,  in  that  it  excited  terror  and  compassion. 
But  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  cubic  capacity  of 
the  theatre. 

Still,  the  theatre  was  to  be  symbolically  destroyed, 
so  that  the  “  Bog  ”  of  1879  was  made  in  the  likeness 
of  Winter,  an  old  man  with  white  hair  and  beard,  who 
sat  on  a  shallow  lighter  holding  a  model  of  the  theatre 
in  his  lap.  The  lighter  was  anchored  in  the  Limmat 
opposite  the  Stork  Hotel,  and  towards  evening  enormous 
crowds  collected  on  either  bank,  in  order  to  witness  the 
auto-da-fe,  which  was  to  take  place,  according  to  pro¬ 
gramme,  on  the  approach  of  darkness.  Since  my  room 
in  the  hotel  overlooked  the  river,  I  was  able  to  enjoy 
the  spectacle  admirably  from  my  window.  Fireworks 
had  been  provided  with  no  niggardly  hand,  and  when 
old  Winter,  spouting  fire,  cast  a  brilliant  illumination 
on  the  thousands  thronging  upon  the  banks,  and  the 
surrounding  buildings,  or  revealed  them  only  in  outline, 
the  spectacle  was  really  a  fine  one.  I  had  not  imagined 
that  I  should  be  favoured  with  such  an  entertainment  so 
soon  after  my  arrival. 

When  I  proceeded  to  look  for  lodgings,  my  experi¬ 
ence  in  respect  of  the  language  of  the  country  was  much 
the  same  as  when  I  was  inquiring  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  “  Sachzelute.”  I  had  not  as  yet  the  least  notion 
of  Zurich  German,  and  as  I  had  never  learned  any 


IN  ZURICH 


77 


middle  High  German  at  school,  I  often  had  some  diffi¬ 
culty^  in  understanding  the  Zurich  landladies.  “  Ach, 
sie  verstahe  kei  Zuritiitsch,  ich  kann  auch  hochdiitsch  zu 
Ihne  rede  ”  (Ah,  you  don’t  understand  Zurich  German  ; 
but  I  can  talk  High  German  as  well),  replied  one  of 
these  ladies,  when  I  asked  her  if  she  would  kindly  speak 
a  little  more  slowly,  since  I  could  not  follow  her  very 
well.  And  she  inundated  me  with  an  explanation  in 
the  idiom  which  she  called  “  hochdiitsch,”  but  which 
was  not  much  more  comprehensible  than  her  native 
speech.  In  connection  with  another  landlady,  I  had 
the  following  experience  :  I  found  her  at  her  front  door, 
and  began  to  negotiate  with  her  as  to  the  monthly  rent 
of  the  three  rooms  that  Hochberg  and  I  required.  She 
named  a  sum  which  I  understood  as  eighty  francs, 
which  I  declared  satisfactory  if  we  could  come  to  an 
understanding  in  respect  of  other  points.  But  scarcely 
had  I  repeated  the  amount  when  a  man,  who  was  likewise 
standing  in  the  doorway,  began  to  make  repeated  signs 
to  me  as  I  discussed  the  other  points  under  considera¬ 
tion.  Was  the  house  verminous,  or  had  some  one 
hanged  himself  in  it  ?  I  thought ;  but  I  did  not  allow 
myself  to  be  influenced  by  those  signs,  as  apart  from 
them  I  found  that  the  rooms  were  not  what  I  was  looking 
for.  I  told  the  woman  that  I  should  have  to  talk  the 
matter  over  with  my  friend,  and  went  my  way.  A  glance 
behind  me  informed  me  that  the  gentleman  of  the 
doorway  was  following  me ;  and  as  I  thereupon  diminished 
my  pace,  the  unknown  plucked  up  courage  and  addressed 
me  :  “  Sie  !  ”  “  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  ”  I  in¬ 

quired.  “Sie,”  he  replied,  “sie  hett  ja  nit  gesagt, 
achtzig  franke,  sie  hett  gesagt  sachzig  Franke  ”  (She 
didn’t  say  eighty  francs,  she  said  sixty  francs).  The 
worthy  fellow  had  been  disturbed  by  the  idea  that  I 
might  be  sacrificed  to  a  misunderstanding.  I  thanked 
him,  of  course,  for  his  benevolent  forethought. 


78 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


To  the  German,  and  particularly  to  the  North 
German,  who  comes  to  Zurich  knowing  nothing  of  the 
Zurich  dialect,  it  is  not  easy  to  understand  the  latter. 
That  it  is,  apart  from  a  few  peculiarities  of  expression, 
not  merely  a  sort  of  jargon,  but  an  historical  national 
speech,  with  regular  inflections,  is  a  thing  that  very  few 
people  realise.  To  these  it  sounds  ugly,  and  seems 
merely  the  language  of  careless  or  uneducated  people. 
And  undoubtedly  the  Swiss-German  as  it  is  spoken 
in  Zurich  and  other  cantons  of  Switzerland  has  many 
unbeautiful  characteristics.  No  one  will  regard  the 
pronunciation  of  ch  as  a  guttural,  the  flattening  of  i  into 
u,  and  e  or  a  into  6  as  an  embellishment  of  the  German 
language.  But  any  one  who  refuses  to  be  deterred  by 
these  and  other  externalities  from  entering  into  the 
spirit  of  the  Swiss-German  dialect  will  find  much  that 
is  estimable  in  its  forms  of  expression  and  its  syntax, 
a  combination  of  strength  and  sincerity  which  is  wanting 
in  literary  German,  and  which  enables  one  to  understand 
why  Schweizerdeutsch  is  spoken  not  only  by  the  lower 
classes  of  society,  but  also  by  its  cultivated  elements  in 
private  intercourse.  I  had  the  good  fortune  while  in 
Switzerland  to  mix  with  people  who  had  proved  them¬ 
selves  to  be  truly  masters  of  the  German  language  in 
the  literary  sense — and  also,  if  it  comes  to  that,  as 
speakers.  But  even  these — for  example,  the  late 
/  regretted  Theodor  Curti,  sometime  editor  and  after¬ 
wards  director  of  our  Frankfurter  Zeitung ,  who  could 
hold  his  own  as  a  prose-writer  and  as  a  poet,  in  respect 
of  style  and  wealth  of  expression,  with  any  true  German 
— used  to  speak  Swiss-German,  or  what  we  understand 
as  Low  German,  in  his  intercourse  with  his  fellow- 
countrymen.  On  the  other  hand,  with  many  Germans 
it  has  happened  as  with  me.  It  was  only  in  the  land  of 
the  Alps  that  I  first  acquired  an  understanding  of  and  a 
feeling,  for  the  dialect. 


IN  ZURICH 


79 


If  I  had  time  I  should  much  like  to  draw  a  philo¬ 
logical  comparison  between  the  relation  of  Swiss- 
German  to  German  and  that  of  the  dialetto  milanese 
spoken  in  the  Ticino  to  the  literary  lingua  Toscana.  To 
the  novice  many  points  of  similarity  occur.  In  both 
cases  we  have  the  modification  of  the  vowels  into 
flattened  diphthongs  and  the  tendency  to  contract 
words  by  the  elision  of  vowels  or  final  syllables.  In 
Casa  in  Valle  I  once  heard  a  youth  who  was  climbing 
the  hillside  call  out  to  a  friend  who  was  sitting  at  the 
window  of  the  neighbouring  house  :  “  ’ndemm.”  I 
pondered  for  a  long  time  over  this,  wondering  what  he 
could  possibly  have  meant,  until  I  concluded  by  analogy 
that  I  had  heard  a  contracted  form  of  “  andiamo.” 
The  name  Bernstein,  with  its  conjunction  of  the  four 
consonants  r,  ny  s,  ty  presents  an  insuperable  difficulty 
to  any  Italian  tongue.  Some  people  get  over  it  by  in¬ 
serting  an  e  between  the  r  and  the  n  ;  others  simplify 
matters  by  simply  omitting  the  n  following  the  r.  I 
was  not  a  little  surprised  one  day  when  I  heard  some  one 
before  our  house  repeatedly  calling  out  “  Besteng,”  and 
realised  that  this  was  intended  for  my  name.  One  of 
M.  d’Arces’  workwomen,  who  had  a  message  for  me,  had 
made  short  work  of  my  name  in  the  spirit  of  the  popular 
etymology  of  the  Milanese  dialect. 

How  do  the  people  remodel  such  foreign  words  as 
they  absorb  into  their  language  ?  Any  one  who  will 
follow  this  process  attentively — and  it  is  always  going 
on,  despite  all  efforts  to  purify  the  language — will  dis¬ 
cover,  without  being  a  philologist,  that  it  proceeds 
according  to  definite  rules,  which  the  man  of  the  people 
follows  without  being  conscious  of  them.  When  the 
worthy  Stefanina  dropped  the  r  as  well  as  the  n  from 
the  middle  of  my  name  and  pronounced  the  ei  as  e, 
she  merely  gave  it  the  form  adapted  to  the  spirit  of  the 
Italian  language.  But  the  final  n  is  always  given  a 


80 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


nasal  pronunciation  wherever  the  Milanese  dialect  is 
spoken.  Thus,  for  example,  since  in  this  dialect  the  u 
is  modified  and  the  final  vowel  elided,  Lugano,  on  the 
lips  of  its  inhabitants,  becomes  Lfigang.  The  Bernese 
dialect  of  Swiss-German  turns  the  Italian  fazzoletto 
(pocket-handkerchief)  into  fazinettli,  while  in  the  Zurich 
dialect  the  French  pois  verts  becomes  Bouverli. 

To  the  native  of  Zurich  High  German  is  a  foreign 
tongue  which  he  has  to  learn.  When  a  German  friend 
of  mine,  in  the  house  of  a  Genevan  lady,  from  whom  she 
was  taking  lessons  in  French,  addressed  an  eight-year- 
old  native  of  Zurich,  who  brought  her  some  message 
or  other,  in  High  German,  the  child  answered,  in  a 
bewildered  fashion  :  “  Ich  verstah  kei  Franzosisch  nut.” 

•  •••••• 

The  political  life  of  Zurich  was  at  a  low  ebb  in  the 
eighties  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  Democratic 
Party  of  the  Canton,  which  at  the  time  of  the  revision 
of  the  Constitution  in  1869  had  won  for  Zurich  the  most 
democratic  form  of  Constitution  then  conceivable,  and 
which,  when  it  came  into  power,  under  the  leadership 
of  a  succession  of  distinguished  politicians,  pursued  a 
truly  enlightened  policy  of  reform,  was,  about  the 
middle  of  the  seventies,  as  the  result  of  a  concatenation 
of  deserved  and  undeserved  reverses,  overthrown  by  a 
coalition  of  its  opponents,  and  deprived  of  its  powers  of 
recovery.  It  was  not  responsible  for  the  reaction  upon 
the  business  life  of  Zurich  of  the  commercial  crisis  which 
had  supervened  in  Germany  and  Austria ;  yet  its  fate 
was  not  wholly  undeserved  by  reason  of  the  circum¬ 
stance  that  the  collapse  of  its  fundamentally  mistaken 
railway  enterprise,  hastened  by  this  business  crisis, 
might  be  placed  to  its  account.  On  a  small  scale  the 
same  amalgamation  of  railway  interests  with  political 
and  party  interests  took  place  in  the  Zurich  of  the 
seventies  that  we  have  seen  accomplished  in  various 


IN  ZURICH 


81 


greater  States.  In  order  to  make  it  possible  to 
work  against  the  party  control  of  the  Swiss  North- 
Eastern  Railway,  which  was  controlled  by  the  Liberal- 
Conservatives,  a  competing  line  was  founded  known  as 
the  National  Railway.  Its  main  line  was  to  run  from 
the  Bodensee  past  Winterthur  and  Baden  in  the  Aargau, 
avoiding  the  city  of  Zurich,  into  Central  and  Western 
Switzerland.  Avoiding  the  city  of  Zurich  :  for  the  idea 
of  being  able  to  reject  the  Liberal-Conservative  capital 
of  the  canton  in  favour  of  Winterthur,  which  was  at 
that  time  the  headquarters  of  the  Democratic  Party,  had 
been  the  intellectual  Hamartia  of  the  latter,  the  great 
strategical  blunder,  thanks  to  which  the  financial 
ruin  of  the  National  Railway  might  lead  to  their 
political  ruin.  Hence  the  opposition  existing  between 
the  National  Railway  and  the  North-Eastern  Railway 
had  to  the  popular  mind  become  synonymous  with 
that  of  the  Democratic  Party  and  the  Liberal-Con¬ 
servative  Party.  And  the  North-Eastern  Railway 
had  proved  to  be  the  stronger  ;  its  shares  maintained 
themselves  at  a  moderate  height,  while  fortunes  were 
lost  by  the  shareholders  of  the  National  Railway. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  Democratic  Party 
the  Social  Democratic  Labour  movement  of  the  Canton 
of  Zurich,  which  in  the  political  conflict  leant  upon  the 
Democratic  Party,  found  itself  very  scant  of  breath. 
At  first  it  was  hampered,  as  was  the  Democratic  Party, 
by  the  commercial  depression  then  extending  all  over 
Europe  ;  but  from  1878  onwards  its  difficulties  were 
greatly  aggravated  by  the  German  anti-Socialist  legisla¬ 
tion.  But  there  was  not  as  yet  such  a  thing  as  a  genuine 
Swiss  Social  Democratic  Party.  The  Griitliverein  was 
a  specifically  Swiss  political  organisation,  which  recruited 
its  members  almost  exclusively  from  the  working  classes 
and  the  lower  middle  class  ;  but  it  was  in  the  meantime 
leading  a  very  passive  existence  In  the  Swiss  Workers’ 
6 


V 


82 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


League  ( Arbeiterbund) ,  founded  in  1874,  which  included 
all  sections  of  the  working  classes — political  societies, 
trade  unions,  educational  societies,  benevolent  societies 
— and  was  intended  to  be  a  militant  alliance,  the  German 
element  was  preponderant,  with  the  German-Austrian 
element,  which  was  completely  assimilated  thereto.  It 
was  not  that  the  Germans  and  Austrians  constituted  the 
majority  of  the  workers  employed  in  the  canton  ;  but 
for  various  reasons,  which,  among  other  things,  were 
connected  with  the  arrangement  for  relief  in  their  home 
districts,  most  of  the  Swiss  workers  lacked  the  induce¬ 
ment  to  join  an  avowedly  militant  organisation,  and 
those  who  did  so  felt  themselves  in  a  minority  even 
when  they  were  not  so  in  reality. 

And  here  the  difference  of  language  already  described 
played  a  decisive  part.  In  all  organisations  not  specific¬ 
ally  national  literary  German  was,  if  not  statutorily 
prescribed,  at  least,  in  the  nature  of  things,  the  language 
required  for  purposes  of  debate,  and  the  result  of  this 
was  that  the  Swiss,  although  they  could  perfectly  well 
understand  literary  German,  and  could  also  speak  it 
quite  readily,  were  very  unwilling  to  take  part  in  any 
discussion.  For  a  long  time  I  could  n6t  quite  under¬ 
stand  this,  until  one  day  a  Swiss  of  great  literary  culture, 
and  quite  free  from  prejudice,  explained  that  he  always 
felt  disconcerted  in  the  society  of  Germans,  even  when 
they  were  friends  of  his,  because  he  could  not  get  rid  of 
the  idea  that  he  would  make  some  linguistic  blunder 
as  soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth.  If  this  is  true  of  a  man 
who  has  formed  himself  upon  the  best  German  stylists, 
and  writes  the  most  exquisite  German,  we  can  imagine 
how  a  working  man,  innocent  of  literary  culture,  would 
be  affected.  It  was  only  now  that  I  began  to  understand 
the  true  significance  of  the  many  bitter  complaints  of 
the  German  workers’  “  gift  of  the  gab.”  Even  if  the 
Swiss  workers  who  joined  organisations  of  mixed 


IN  ZURICH 


83 


nationality  were  treated  with  the  greatest  consideration, 
this  would  not  alter  the  fact  that  they — a  few  in¬ 
dividuals  excepted — would  not  feel  properly  at  home 
in  such  surroundings,  but  rather  oppressed  and  ill  at 
ease.  And  such  a  feeling  is  not  conducive  to  correct 
judgment. 

However,  the  difficulties  of  language  alone  would 
scarcely  have  been  enough  to  produce  this  feeling  had 
not  the  Swiss  people  in  general  regarded  the  Germans 
with  fear  or  suspicion.  Germany  and  the  Germans 
were  not  only  disliked  by  the  Swiss  people  ;  by  many 
they  were  actually  hated.  This  aversion  is  to  a  great 
extent  an  historical  inheritance,  and  may  be  explained 
by  the  relations  which  so  long  existed  between  Switzer¬ 
land  and  the  old  Empire.  The  Swiss,  while  independent 
of  the  Empire,  have  always  felt  themselves  threatened 
or  oppressed,  and  have  regarded  the  Empire  with  fear, 
which  always  gives  rise  to  a  feeling  of  hatred.  They 
knew  little  that  was  good  of  the  Empire,  which  they 
regarded  as  the  ally  of  their  domestic  oppressors,  while 
France,  under  the  Bourbons,  offered  them  commercial 
advantages,  and,  in  the  great  Revolution,  became  their 
liberator.  This  historical  relation  between  the  two 
adjacent  countries,  as  Theodor  Curti  once  pointed  out 
to  me,  has  even  found  expression  in  the  speech  of  the 
people.  If  the  young  Switzer  wants  to  go  abroad,  he 
says,  if  France  is  his  destination,  “  I  am  going  into 
France  ” ;  but  if  he  elects  to  go  to  Germany,  he  says, 
“  I  am  going  out  to  Germany.”  This  differentiation, 
quite  unconscious  to-day,  betrays  a  difference  of  feeling 
which  needs  very  little  encouragement  to  transform 
itself  into  a  conscious  aversion.  It  revealed  itself  in 
elemental  fashion  at  the  time  of  the  Franco-Prussian 
War.  When  in  January  1871  the  Germans  of  the 
Empire  celebrated  their  victory  over  France  in  the 
Zurich  Concert  Hall,  there  was  a  hostile  demonstration 


84 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


on  the  part  of  the  populace  which  almost  amounted  to 
a  veritable  riot. 

This  incident  was  not  yet  ten  years  old  when  I 
arrived  in  Zurich,  and  the  prejudice  against  the 
"  Swabians  ”  (Schwaben),  as  the  Germans  were  called 
collectively,  was  still  fairly  strong.  But  in  the  practical 
relations  of  everyday  life  its  expression  was  not  more 
disagreeable  than  that  of  the  similar  feeling  then  enter¬ 
tained  in  the  “  great  Wurttemberg  canton  ”  in  respect 
of  the  North  Germans.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this,  Germans 
of  truly  liberal  sentiments  felt  quite  at  home  in 
Switzerland.  A  German  aristocrat  of  liberal  opinions 
who  was  living  in  Zurich,  who  published  a  newspaper 
in  which  he  revealed  himself  as  a  pitiless  critic  of  all 
that  displeased  him  in  the  manners,  institutions,  and 
politics  of  the  Swiss,  replied,  when  some  one  once 
asked  him  what  he  would  do  if  he  was  suddenly  trans¬ 
ported  to  Germany  :  “  I  should  crawl  back  into  Switzer¬ 
land  on  all  fours.”  This  original  gentleman  ended  his 
life  upon  Swiss  soil.  He  was  a  scion  of  the  noble 
Silesian  house  of  Rotkirch,  but  as  a  writer  he  was 
known  by  the  name  of  von  Taur,  which  was  a  secondary 
family  title.  His  journal,  the  Schweizerische  Handels- 
zeitung ,  had  only  a  small  circulation  and  a  moderate 
range,  but  was  read  with  attention,  as  the  carefully 
considered  judgments  of  such  matters  as  came  within 
the  editor’s  competence  were  greatly  valued,  and  he 
was  known  to  be  incorruptible.  There  can  scarcely 
have  been  a  second  editor  of  a  commercial  newspaper  so 
inaccessible  to  his  clients  as  von  Taur.  Every  attempt 
on  the  part  of  bank  directors  or  the  managers  of  business 
establishments  to  obtain  personal  interviews  with  him 
was  regarded  by  him  as  an  insult,  and  decisively  re¬ 
pulsed.  In  the  newspaper  published  by  this  peculiar 
character  a  Swiss  journalist,  a  Democrat,  with  whom 
I  was  soon  to  become  acquainted,  and  who  is  still  an 


IN  ZURICH 


85 


intimate  friend  of  mine,  first  revealed  his  remarkable 
talents  as  a  political  humorist.  Reinhold  Ruegg  was 
the  son  of  a  schoolmaster  and  was  educated  for  the  same 
profession,  but  in  the  days  of  the  struggle  for  Zurich's 
democratic  Constitution  he  played  an  active  part  in  the 
campaign,  and  afterwards  applied  himself  to  political 
journalism.  For  a  long  time  he  was  a  contributor  to 
the  Winterthur  Landbote ,  which  was  then  the  chief  organ 
of  the  Zurich,  indeed  one  might  say  of  the  Swiss  Demo¬ 
cratic  Party,  Among  the  editors  of  this  paper  was  the 
admirable  Friedrich  Albert  Lange,  the  author  of  Labour 
Problems  and  the  History  of  Materialism.  To  the  con- 
ception  of  democracy  which  was  then  defended  in  the 
Landbote,  and  which  was  not  differentiated  from  Social 

tc 

Democracy  by  any  sharp  dividing  line,  Ruegg  has 
remained  faithful  all  his  life.  His  ardent  sympathy 
for  all  honourable  movements  of  liberation  has  pre¬ 
vented  the  sceptical  flavour  which  pervades  his  humorous 
work  from  degenerating  into  the  cynicism  of  the  pro¬ 
fessional  jester. 

In  company  with  Theodor  Curti,  who  held  similar 
opinions,  Ruegg  started  a  newspaper  in  Zurich  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year  1879.  This  was  the  Ziiricher  Post, 
which  represented  the  cause  of  democracy  as  he  under¬ 
stood  it.  Under  the  editorship  of  these  two,  it  soon 
won  a  considerable  position  in  the  world  of  Swiss 
journalism.  It  is  true  that  the  Ziiricher  Post  was  too 
much  the  organ  of  definite  opinions  to  achieve  a  wide 
circulation,  but  it  created  too  great  an  impression  to 
be  ignored.  The  active  politician  on  the  staff  was 
Curti,  who,  before  long,  was  elected  to  the  Swiss  National 
Council.  He  was  much  tied  by  parliamentary  activities, 
which  possessed  no  more  than  a  moderate  interest  for 
Ruegg.  At  one  in  their  way  of  thinking,  in  temperament 
the  two  editors  of  the  Post  were  as  different  as  can 
be  imagined.  This  was  sometimes  exemplified  in  an 


86 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


amusing  fashion  in  their  newspaper.  Ruegg,  in  his 
“  turnover,”  would  now  and  again  rebel,  in  a  witty  and 
ironical  manner,  against  the  over-estimation  of  the 
guerilla  warfare  of  Parliament  in  Curti’s  political 
articles  and  letters,  whereupon  Curti  would  make  a 
somewhat  learned  rejoinder,  the  point  of  which  would  pass 
unperceived  by  the  uninitiated.  Curti  had  the  founda¬ 
tions  of  a  great  parliamentary  style,  which  impelled  him 
to  devote  himself  to  creative  legislative  work,  and  by 
his  activities  in  this  direction  he  had  won  the  right  to 
claim  election  to  the  Federal  Council ;  but  the  Liberal- 
Radical  Party,  who  disposed  of  the  majority  in  the 
National  Council,  felt  that  he  was  too  turbulent  a  spirit 
to  make  it  possible  for  them  to  place  him  on  their  list 
of  candidates,  and  the  Labour  Party,  which  would 
willingly  have  elected  him,  although  he  was  not  a 
member  of  it,  had  as  yet  sufficient  strength  to  enforce 
its  choice.  4* 

Of  all  the  Swiss  whom  I  met  in  Zurich  only  a  few 
seemed  to  me  to  be  men  who  gained  upon  closer  ac¬ 
quaintance  in  the  same  degree  as  the  editors  of  the 
Zuricher  Post.  They  were  both  men  of  real  culture,  with 
a  broad  outlook,  and  each,  in  his  own  fashion,  was  an 
acceptable  neighbour  to  a  Socialist.  Curti,  later  on,  at 
the  desire  of  Leopold  Sonnemann,  resigned  his  mandate 
as  delegate  to  the  National  Council  and  his  position  as 
member  of  the  Government  of  his  native  canton,  St. 
Gallen,  in  order  to  become  director  of  the  Frankfurter 
Zeitung ,  and  to  uphold  the  traditions  of  this  newspaper 
as  they  existed  at  its  best  period.  On  the  eve  of  the 
Great  War  he  resigned  this  position  just  in  time,  for  it 
would  have  been  difficult  for  him  to  avoid  conflict  with 
the  present  owners  of  the  paper.  As  a  Swiss  he  was 
free  from  any  bias  with  regard  to  Germany,  and  was  often 
a  severe  critic  of  French  policy.  But  he  was  a  Democrat 

to  the  backbone,  and  could  never,  amongst  other  things, 

. 


IN  ZURICH 


87 


overlook  what  was  done  in  Belgium.  With  surprising 
swiftness,  and  all  too  early  for  those  who  knew  him,  he 
died  last  year  of  a  weakness  of  the  heart. 


I  had  only  been  a  short  time  in  Zurich  when  I  first 
heard  Theodor  Curti  as  a  speaker  at  a  great  popular 
demonstration.  This  was  a  manifestation  against  the 
reintroduction  of  the  death  penalty.  The  Conserva¬ 
tives  had  taken  advantage  of  the  occurrence  of  certain 
murders  in  order  to  set  the  popular  initiative  1  in  opera¬ 
tion,  with  a  view  to  cancelling  the  paragraph  in  the 
Federal  Constitution  which  made  it  impossible  for 
the  individual  cantons  to  introduce  the  death  penalty 
within  their  jurisdiction.  They  had  obtained  sufficient 
signatures  to  enforce  the  Referendum  ;  hence  the  de¬ 
monstration.  Besides  Curti,  the  poet  Gottfried  Kinkel 
was  speaking ;  he  was  then  living  in  Zurich,  where  he 
occupied  the  chair  of  the  History  of  Art  in  the  Federal 
Polytechnic.  To  the  present  generation  Kinkel  is 
almost  unknown.  But  in  those  days  it  was  not  yet 
forgotten  that  he  had  taken  part  in  the  rising  in  Baden 
and  the  Palatinate  when  those  countries  demanded 
the  Constitution  of  the  Empire;  that  he  was  taken 
prisoner,  and  condemned  to  imprisonment  for  life  by  the 
Rastatt  court-martial.  This  sentence  was  commuted 
by  a  rescript  of  Friedrich  Wilhelm  iv.  of  Prussia  to  a 
term  of  penal  servitude,  and  it  was  only  a  bold  coup  de 
main  on  the  part  of  Karl  Schurz  that  saved  him  from  years 
of  a  convict’s  life  in  Spandau  until  the  promulgation  of 
a  possible  amnesty.  Of  course,  in  Radical  circles  they 
knew  all  manner  of  things  concerning  his  infirmities, 
#  and  Karl  Marx  had  overwhelmed  him  with  derision  on 
this  account ;  in  Herr  Vogt ,  which  appeared  in  i860,  he 
called  him  “  the  passion-flower  of  German  Philistinism,” 


1  In  most  of  the  Swiss  cantons  the  rights  of  democracy  are  safe¬ 
guarded  by  the  Popular  Initiative  and  the  Referendum. — {Trans.) 


88 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


and  even  Freiligrath  speaks  ironically  enough  of  him 
in  his  letters.  So  1  was  all  agog  to  hear  the  poet  of 
Otto  der  Schiitz  as  a  popular  speaker. 

His  voice  and  appearance  qualified  him  for  the  post. 
A  tall,  broad-shouldered  man,  he  took  up  his  position 
rather  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  and  his  voice  was 
clear  and  powerful.  But  an  exaggerated  theatrical 
emotionalism  betrayed  the  speaker  of  1848.  This  was 
not  to  the  taste  of  his  Swiss  audience,  neither  could  it 
win  the  approval  of  Social  Democrats  of  the  Lassalle- 
Marxian  school.  Even  a  well-meaning  pamphlet  which 
Kinkel  wrote  against  the  death  sentence  failed  of  effect 
because  of  the  unfortunate  tone  in  which  it  was  con¬ 
ceived.  The  reactionary  initiative  obtained  the  majority 
in  the  Referendum,  because  the  Radical  cantons  of  West 
Switzerland,  although  they  had  no  desire  to  restore  the 
death  penalty  at  home,  voted  for  it  out  of  hostility  to  the 
centralism  of  the  Federal  Constitution. 

Shortly  after  this  meeting  I  made  Kinkel’s  personal 
acquaintance  ;  and  I  must  say,  to  his  credit,  that  his 
demeanour  in  respect  of  our  persecuted  Social  Democracy 
was  extremely  proper.  But  his  manner  in  social  inter¬ 
course  made  a  comical  impression  on  me  whenever  I 
met  him.  It  confirmed  what  I  read  later  on  in  a  letter 
of  Freiligrath’s  :  “  He  must  walk  on  stilts ;  he  can’t  do 
otherwise.”  And  that  Kinkel,  when  he  once  had  to 
give  a  lecture  in  German  before  the  Workers’  Union  in 
Zurich,  should  have  chosen  as  his  subject  Theodor 
Korner,  a  brave  fellow,  but  without  significance  in 
respect  of  the  problems  of  our  times,  and  of  no  great 
importance  as  a  poet,  struck  me  as  rather  humorous. 

At  all  events,  Kinkel,  after  wavering  somewhat  in 
1866,  found  his  way  back  to  the  Democratic  Party,  while 
the  majority  of  the  departed  "  forty-niners  ”  who  settled 
in  Zurich  .in  his  time  strayed  off  into  the  camp  of  the 
National  Liberals  after  the  victories  of  1866  and  1870. 


IN  ZURICH 


89 


Among  the  faithful,  I  became  acquainted  with  the 
erstwhile  Prussian  artillery  captain,  Freiherr  von  Beust, 
who,  in  1848,  had  played  a  prominent  part  in  various 
popular  insurrections,  and  had  been  three  times  sen¬ 
tenced  to  death  in  contumacio.  As  a  fugitive,  he  worked 
for  a  long  time  in  Zurich  as  teacher  in  one  of  the  schools 
established  by  Frobel,  which  he  took  over  after  Frobel’s 
death,  introducing  still  further  developments  of  the 
Frobelian  education  by  intuition,  so  that  the  school 
became  widely  known  abroad,  and  was  often  visited 
by  foreigners.  Beust — he  had  laid  aside  his  title — was 
helped  in  the  school  by  his  wife,  a  cousin  of  Friedrich 
Engels,  in  character  and  appearance  a  genuine  Rhein- 
lander,  as  described  in  the  lines  by  Simrock  : 

“  Lo,  the  maids  are  so  frank  and  the  men  are  so  free, 

’Tis  surely  a  noble  race." 

A  characteristic  remark  of  hers  illustrates  her  manner 
of  thinking.  The  Beusts  had  repeatedly  given  the 
German  Socialists  living  in  Zurich  a  highly  acceptable 
proof  of  the  fact  that  they  regularly  employed  Socialist 
teachers  in  their  school.  One  of  these  teachers,  for 
whose  appointment  I  was  partly  responsible,  had  not 
behaved  very  well  to  the  Beusts.  When  Frau  Beust 
told  me  of  his  dismissal,  she  added,  “  He  was  an  un¬ 
polished  customer,  and  that  really  prejudiced  me  in  his 
favour,  but  I  have  been  forced  to  realise  that  one  can  be 
a  churl  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  very  insidious.” 

The  Beusts’  school  was  attended  almost  exclusively 
by  the  children  of  well-to-do  Germans  living  in  Zurich. 
In  very  many  cases,  however,  the  choice  of  this  school 
was  due  less  to  the  preference  evinced  by  the  parents 
of  these  children  for  the  Beust  educational  method, 
than  to  a  rather  strong  dose  of  snobbishness.  In 
Zurich  the  schools  are  of  uniform  type,  and  even  quite 
wealthy  Swiss  people  send  their  children  without  hesita- 


90 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


tion  from  the  very  first  to  the  ordinary  Volksschiile. 
But  it  does  not  suit  the  majority  of  the  middle-class 
Germans  to  allow  their  children  to  receive  their  education 
side  by  side  with  the  children  of  the  proletariat,  so  they 
are  sent  to  the  Beusts’  school.  Whether  this  is  still  the 
case,  I  do  not  know.  Freiherr  von  Beust  and  his  wife 
have  long  ago  departed  this  life,  and  a  son,  who  was 
also  a  teacher  in  the  school,  and  as  such  gave  promise 
of  great  distinction,  died  in  his  early  youth. 

There  were  two  other  distinguished  persons  whose 
acquaintance  I  made  in  Zurich,  but  I  had  better  speak 
of  them  when  describing  the  rise  of  the  Social  Demo¬ 
cratic  colony,  which  from  1879  onwards  made  Zurich 
unsafe,  and  whose  centre  was  the  “  Olympus  ”  on  the 
higher  slopes  of  the  Wolfbach  at  Hottingen. 


CHAPTER  V 

LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 

WHEN  the  memorial  to  Freiherr  von  Stein  was 
uncovered  in  Berlin,  in  the  year  1877,  I 
heard  an  apprentice  ask  his  companion,  as 
the  two  were  gazing  at  the  memorial  on  the  following 
day,  “Du,  wen  soil  denn  der  da  vorstellen  ?  ”  (Look 
here,  who’s  that  there  meant  for  ?)  To  which  the  other 
replied,  “  Det  weeste  nich  ?  Det  ist  der  Jeneral  Stein.” 
(Don’t  you  know  ?  That’s  General  Stein.) 

I  was  reminded  of  this  conversation  when  I  stood 
some  eight  years  later  before  the  memorial  column  on 
the  Platzpromenade  of  Zurich,  which  exhibits  a  bas- 
relief  of  the  poet  Gessner,  famed  for  his  idyllic  verse. 
Two  boys  about  fourteen  years  of  age  came  along. 
“  Du,”  said  one,  “  wer  isch  jetzt  auch  der  da  ?  ”  (Here, 
who’s  that  ?)  “  Oh,”  was  the  reply,  “  das  isch  so  e 

Sanger vater  gsi !  ”  (Oh,  that’s  some  choirmaster  or 
other  !) 

Do  not  both  these  replies  reveal  a  trait  of  popular 

psychology  ?  In  Berlin,  the  person  commemorated 

must  perforce  be  a  general ;  in  Zurich  he  must  be 

“  some  choirmaster  or  other.” 

And  indeed  the  North  German  who  comes  to  Zurich 

is  astonished  that  the  statues  of  the  city  are  mostly 

those  of  composers  and  conductors.  Music  plays  a 

great  part  in  the  social  life  of  Zurich.  Both  the  great 

choirs  of  the  city — the  mixed  choir  and  the  “  Harmony  ” 

— enjoy  a  reputation  which  has  travelled  far  beyond 

91 


92 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  frontiers  of  Switzerland,  and  the  great  musical 
festival  of  Zurich,  which  is  for  the  city  an  event  in 
which  everybody  is  interested,  and  which  is  celebrated 
by  decorating  the  streets  with  flags,  by  processions,  etc., 
attracts  many  well-known  foreign  guests.  A  song 
festival  held  in  Zurich  during  my  residence  there,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  eighties,  attracted  the  aged  Franz 
Liszt,  among  others,  to  the  shores  of  the  Ziirichsee. 
And  everybody  knows  the  part  which  Zurich  played  in 
the  life  of  Richard  Wagner. 

Of  soldiers,  on  the  other  hand,  one  saw  few  in  Zurich 
at  that  time,  and  what  one  did  see  made  it  obvious  that 
one  was  in  a  country  where  the  militia  system  obtained. 
Except  when  on  active  service  no  one  wore  uniform. 
In  the  Kronenhalle  restaurant,  at  one  time,  there  was 
always  to  be  found,  towards  evening,  a  little  circle  of 
intellectual  notables,  to  whose  table  I  was  sometimes 
invited.  One  member  of  this  circle  was  a  professor  of 
military  science,  who  was  also  a  colonel  in  the  army. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  least  military  about  his  bearing, 
although,  as  far  as  externals  went,  his  great  height 
fitted  him  to  be  a  soldier,  as  well  as  his  great  knowledge 
of  military  matters  (he  was  afterwards  promoted  to  the 
rank  of  general).  To-day  militarism  seems  to  have 
struck  its  roots  deeper  into  Swiss  soil.  This  little 
country,  with  its  peace-loving  population,  which  had 
no  more  ardent  desire  than  to  succeed  in  holding  aloof 
from  the  political  struggles  of  its  great  neighbour  States, 
has  not  fully  escaped  the  contagion  of  its  surroundings. 
And  to  avoid  being  drawn  into  the  dance  for  which  the 
militarism  of  the  Great  Powers  likes  to  call  the  tune 
it  has  had  to  pay  all  sorts  of  tribute.  Yet  another 
illustration  of  the  words  of  the  poet,  that  the  most 
innocent  cannot  live  in  peace  if  his  neighbours  are  not 
peaceful. 

In  the  eighties  of  the  last  century  little  of  all  this 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


93 


was  visible,  so  that  there  was  not  as  yet  any  anti- 
militarist  element  in  the  Swiss  Labour  movement. 
Only  a  few  far-sighted  persons  beheld  the  treacherous 
clouds  on  the  horizon.  One  of  them  was  the  Swiss 
Socialist,  Karl  Biirkli,  who  had  a  pretty  fair  under¬ 
standing  of  military  affairs — his  essay  on  Der  Wahre 
Winkelried  was,  in  its  day,  very  highly  spoken  of  by 
Hans  Delbrtick  in  the  Preussische  Jahrbucher — and  whose 
name  was  seldom  mentioned  without  the  addition  of 
his  military  title,  “  Alt-Landwehr-Hauptmann  ”  (Late 
Militia-Captain).  In  our  days,  now  that  the  United 
States  are  on  the  point  of  being  seriously  involved  in 
European  politics,  it  is  of  interest  to  note  that  Biirkli 
repeatedly  declared  that  the  only  means  by  which 
Switzerland  could  avoid  being  drawn  into  the  stream 
of  European  politick  was  to  shelter  herself  beneath  the 
wing  of  the  great  Transatlantic  Republic,  and  declare 
herself  as  a  federated  State. 

(Since  the  above  lines  were  written  the  unrestricted 

,  -3 —  :  - 

submarine  campaign  has  had  the  result  of  causing  the 
United  States  to  ioin  the  Powers  making  war  upon 
Germany.  This,  at  all  events,  is  a  thing  that  old 
Biirkli  would  not  have  dreamed  of,  but  we  can 
imagine  what  he  would  have  thought  of  it.  He  had 
no  national  prejudices,  but  his  political  sympathies  were 
with  the  Western  nations.) 

Karl  Biirkli  was  in  many  respects  an  original.  A 
manual  worker  to  begin  with,  he  had,  like  so  many 
Swiss,  travelled  widely  in  his  youth.  He  was  devoted 
to  Socialism  body  and  soul,  and  in  Paris  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  representatives  of  the  old  French 
Socialism :  Utienne  Cabet,  Victor  Considerant,  and 
others  ;  and  he  took  part  in  a  Socialistic  colonial  expedi¬ 
tion  to  Texas.  When  he  had  returned  to  Zurich,  and 
had  thrown  himself  into  the  conflict  of  parties,  a  hostile 
pamphleteer  bestowed  upon  him  the  appellation  of 


94 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


“  Alt-Rauber-Hauptmann  ”  (Old  Robber-Captain,  Old 
Brigand  Chief)  ;  but  his  friends  readily  adopted  this 
as  a  suitable  nickname,  for  in  spite  of  his  realistic  ideas, 
he  was  still  something  of  a  romantic.  As  a  Socialist  he 
was  in  essentials  a  pupil  of  Charles  Fourrier,  and  shared 

. 

with  his  master  the  attribute  of  a  keen  eye  for  the  actual 
which  was  often  combined  with  a  bold  imagination  ; 
and  he  resembled  him  also  in  this,  that  he  lacked  the 
capacity  to  make  an  orderly  statement  of  his  ideas. 
He  had  a  very  fine  library,  read  a  great  deal,  and  often 
carefully  pondered  over  what  he  had  read.  But  when 
he  wanted  to  explain  his  opinions,  the  brain  of  this 
apostle  of  the  doctrine  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  instincts 
became  the  theatre  of  something  like  the  sovereignty 
of  ideas,  and  he  soon  came  to  grief  by  stumbling  over 
his  mutually  encroaching  conceptions.  Like  almost  all 
Socialists  of  the  older  school,  he  concerned  himself 
greatly  with  theories  of  money  and  credit,  and  an  essay 
of  his  favouring  an  interest-bearing  paper  currency 
funded  on  the  land  brought  him  into  violent  conflict 
with  us  Socialists  of  the  Marxian  school.  But  one  could 
not  long  be  angry  with  the  honest  old  fellow.  He  had 
at  least  one  thing  in  his  favour  :  he  was  able  to  give 
support  to  even  the  most  abstruse  ideas  by  means 
of  striking  images.  If  our  old  robber-captain  was 
announced  to  speak  before  the  Zurich  section  of  the 
International,  one  might  be  sure  that  he  would  put  some 
life  into  the  debate. 

Zurich,  in  the  year  1879,  still  boasted  of  a  section  of 
the  old  International  Workers’  Association,  which  split 
in  two  at  the  Hague  Congress  of  1872,  and  two  years 
later  expired.  It  propagated  itself  like  a  last  rose, 
because  there  was  a  certain  need  of  it.  Where  would 
the  Socialists  of  different  nationalities  who  had  taken 
refuge  in  Zurich  come  together  for  common  discussion 
except  in  an  international  Society  ?  So  the  Zurich 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


95 


section  still  survived,  years  after  the  death  of  the  mother 
organisation,  holding  its  sessions  in  the  “  green  Hiisli  ” 
on  the  lower  Miihlensteg  ;  when  I  came  to  Zurich  it 
used  to  meet  daily  in  an  hotel  on  the  Stiissi  Hofstatt. 
It  was  there  that  I  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
German-Swiss  Socialists  in  their  own  homes,  and  heard 
them  express  themselves  in  a  language  which  to  me 
sounded  a  curious  and  heterogeneous  mixture  of  literary 
German  and  Swiss  patois. 

Generally  speaking,  I  was  able  to  listen  to  it  with 
pleasure.  The  language  has  something  pithy  about  it, 
and  the  Swiss  differ  from  German  speakers  principally 
by  the  greater  conciseness  and  pregnancy  of  their  con¬ 
versation.  They  do  not  indulge  greatly  in  rhetoric  ; 
one  of  them,  a  highly  intelligent  metal-worker,  astonished 
me  by  invariably  breaking  off  his  discourse,  when  he 
had,  in  his  opinion,  said  what  was  necessary,  by  a  sort 
of  croak  :  “  Hab  g’schlosse  !  ”  (I’ve  finished  !) 

The  Slav  element  was  more  strongly  represented  in 
the  Zurich  International  than  the  Swiss  ;  the  Russians, 
of  course,  being  the  most  numerous.  However,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  eighties  the  Russian  colony  in  Zurich 
boasted  of  only  a  few  members  of  international  interest. 
The  days  were  over  when  Peter  Lavroff  gathered  the 
young  Socialist  Russian  students  of  Zurich  about  him. 
The  learned  author  of  Historical  Letters  was  then  living 
in  Paris,  where  he  gave  lectures  in  his  modest  home  in 
the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  thereby  attracting  many  educated 
Russians  during  the  vacations. 

Since  the  International  Section  could  not  undertake 
any  sort  of  practical  action,  it  was,  as  an  association, 
a  mere  debating  society.  All  sorts  of  theoretical 
questions  were  discussed,  and  abstract  speculations 
as  to  Socialist  practice  were  indulged  in.  For  example, 
we  occupied  ourselves  for  several  evenings  with  the 
question  put  forward  by  Hochberg  in  the  Jahrbuch  fiir 


96 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Sozialwissenschaft :  What  would  Social  Democracy  do, 
at  the  present  stage  of  its  development,  if  it  suddenly 
had  to  assume  the  reins  of  government  ?  On  one  of 
these  evenings  August  Bebel  was  present ;  in  those  days 
he  was  travelling  for  his  door-handle  business,  and  com¬ 
bined  these  business  journeys  with  visits  whose  object 
was  of  a  political  nature.  He  listened  to  us  for  a  time, 
but  did  not  appear  to  be  much  edified  by  what  he  heard  ; 
in  particular,  certain  ideas  unfolded  by  Karl  Kautsk}/, 
whom  Hochberg  had  invited  to  Zurich,  and  my  humble 
self,  relating  to  the  possibilities  of  the  existing  state  of 
affairs,  did  not  by  any  means  meet  with  his  approval. 
They  were  much  too  moderate  for  him,  and  in  his  opinion, 
if  we  were  to  come  forward  in  time  of  revolution  with 
such  tame  proposals  as  these,  we  might  possibly  be 
strung  up  on  the  lamp-posts.  Despite  the  anti-Socialist 
laws,  Bebel  was  in  those  days  extremely  sanguine.  The 
obstinate  persistence  of  the  commercial  “  slump  ”  gave 
him  reason  to  hope  that  capitalistic  society  would 
not  succeed  in  recovering  from  the  burden  that  was 
weighing  upon  it,  but  was  hastening  towards  its  dis¬ 
solution.  It  was  a  false  calculation,  but  it  endowed 
this  politician,  then  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  the  wonderful 
driving  force  which  enabled  him  at  that  time  to  per¬ 
form  inestimable  services  for  his  party  in  Germany. 
The  Zurich  International,  which  formed  a  section  of 
the  languishing  Swiss  Workers’  League,  was  of  course 
unable  to  breathe  any  fife  into  the  latter.  This  much- 
vaunted  alliance  could  no  longer  be  maintained  in  its 
traditional  form.  Not  only  the  League,  but  its  organ, 
the  Tagwacht,  published  in  Zurich,  was  suffering  from 
anaemia.  The  circumstances  of  this  newspaper  were 
as  proletarian  as  they  could  possibly  be.  It  was  set 
up  on  an  old-fashioned,  hand-worked  printing-press,  in 
a  little  house  of  almost  antediluvian  simplicity  in  the 
Zeltweg  in  Hottingen-Zurich.  A  fairly  large  room,  to 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZORICH 


97 


which  one  gained  access  by  a  narrow  staircase,  served 
at  one  and  the  same  time  as  composing-room,  machine- 
room,  and  editorial  office — as  the  latter,  inasmuch  as 
one  corner  contained  a  tall  writing-desk  of  the  simplest 
fashion,  and  a  stool  of  the  same  kind  for  the  editor. 
In  the  same  room,  of  an  evening,  in  a  very  indifferent 
light,  the  local  branch  of  the  Workers’  League  and 
other  committees  held  their  sessions.  Since  I  took 
part  in  the  Labour  movement  immediately  after  my 
arrival  in  Zurich,  I  participated  in  many  of  these  branch 
meetings,  which,  on  account  of  their  general  style, 
always  struck  me  as  resembling  the  meetings  of  the  early 
Christians.  The  assemblies  of  the  first  Christian  com¬ 
munities  can  scarcely  have  been  much  less  luxurious 
than  these  gatherings. 

There  was  a  humorous  incident  at  one  of  these 
meetings  which  must,  in  its  native  originality,  have  been 
almost  unique.  A  delegate  was  complaining  violently 
of  a  resolution  passed  at  the  previous  session.  He  was 
reminded  that  he  and  no  other  was  the  person  who  had 
proposed  the  resolution.  “  Why,  yes,”  replied  the 
worthy  fellow  ;  “I  moved  the  resolution,  but  you  ought 
"not  to  have  accepted  it !  ” 

The  editor  of  the  Tagwacht  was  Hermann  Greulich, 
a  Silesian  by  birth,  who  had  come  to  Zurich  as  a  journey¬ 
man  bookbinder,  and  had  lived  there  for  many  years 
in  thoroughly  proletarian  and  even  sub-proletarian 
surroundings.  He  married  early,  and  was  soon  blessed 
with  children.  And  since  he  had  to  feed  his  elderly 
relations  as  well  as  his  children,  things  were  uncommonly 
“  tight  ”  with  the  household  of  this  unusually  talented 
man  ;  so  that  he  was  obliged,  when  his  own  calling  did 
not  provide  him  with  sufficient  employment,  to  look  out 
for  some  sort  of  extra  work  ;  and  he  could  not  afford  to 
be  fastidious.  Thus,  for  a  time  he  roasted  coffee  for  a 
daily  wage.  But  even  as  editor  of  the  Tagwacht  his 

7 


98 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


income  remained  proletarian.  For  this  newspaper, 
which  appeared  only  two  or  three  times  a  week,  in  a 
small  format ,  had  a  limited  circulation,  and  could  there¬ 
fore  pay  only  a  very  moderate  salary.  But  the  demands 
made  upon  the  editor  were  as  great  as  his  salary  was 
small,  and  in  addition  to  producing  the  paper  he  had  to 
undertake  all  sorts  of  duties  in  connection  with  agitation 
and  organisation.  The  working  classes  had  as  yet  no 
standard  for  estimating  the  value  of  literary  work  ; 
even  the  so-called  educated  classes  entertained  the 
most  erroneous  opinions  in  this  respect.  In  short,  the 
struggle  for  life  was  not  made  easy  for  our  friend.  But 
he  had  worried  through,  and  for  the  time  being  Karl 
Biirkli,  who  valued  his  intellectual  talents  at  their  true 
value,  was  standing  beside  him  and  giving  him  a  helping 
hand. 

Greulich  was  in  all  respects  a  more  lucid  thinker  than 
Burkli,  and  he  had  what  Biirkli  lacked — the  gift  of  rapid 
and  orderly  expression.  Some  pamphlets  from  his  pen 
are  true  models  in  this  respect,  and  he  was  a  silent  colla¬ 
borator  in  many  of  Biirkli’s  treatises  ;  it  was  he  who 
was  responsible  for  their  form.  Some  of  the  greatest 
favourites  among  the  German  “  Songs  of  Labour  ”  were 
written  by  him  ;  among  them  the  haunting  lyric,  sung 
to  the  air  of  Die  Wacht  am  Rhein  :  “  Es  tont  ein  Ruf 
von  Land  zu  Land,” 1  which  has  for  its  refrain  the  motto 

- 

of  the  weavers  of  Lyons  who  went  on  strike  in  1831  : 
“  Arbeitend  leben  oder  kampfend  den  Tod”  (“  Vivre 
en  travaillant  ou  mourir  en  combattant  ”).2  To-day, 
after  a  life  full  of  activity,  Greulich  is  one  of  the  repre¬ 
sentatives  of  Swiss  Social  Democracy  on  the  National 
Council  of  the  Swiss  Confederacy,  and  fulfils  that  office 
efficiently  despite  his  great  age.  He  has  mastered  the 
Swiss  idiom  as  only  a  few  have  done  of  those  who  have 

1  "  There  sounds  a  call  from  land  to  land." 

2  “  To  live  by  work  or  in  fighting  die." 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZORICH 


99 


wandered  into  Switzerland  from  Eastern  Germany. 
Not  infrequently  he  will  even  break  into  the  dialect  when 
speaking  “  literary  German  ”  to  his  former  countrymen. 

This  absolute  assimilation  of  a  foreign  tongue  is  no 
mere  intellectual  process.  It  is  also  undoubtedly  an 
expression  of  a  psychical  quality — I  might  even  say  of  a 
temperament.  According  to  my  own  observations,  it  is 
found  mostly  in  people  who  feel  a  great  need  of  depend¬ 
ence  upon  others.  A  strong-willed  person  can,  of  course, 
by  means  of  study,  master  the  principles  of  a  foreign 
language,  but  in  spite  of  this  he  usually  remains  cold 
in  his  feelings  towards  it.  Improvement  in  a  foreign 
language,  which  by  no  means  always  coincides  with  the 
absorption  of  its  spirit,  is  in  many  cases  a  passive  pro¬ 
cess,  which  is  brought  about  by  the  effect  of  the  environ¬ 
ment  ;  a  sort  of  unconscious  or  half-conscious  imita¬ 
tion,  which  is  not  the  same  thing  as  a  thorough  grasp 
of  the  language.  Hence  the  phenomenon  that  people  of 
scholarly  education  often  prove  to  be  much  less  adroit 
in  the  use  of  an  acquired  tongue  than  people  who  are  only 
superficially  cultured.  But  for  the  same  reason  such 
people  exhibit  a  very  different  mastery  over  their  own 
language  to  that  displayed  by  half-educated  folk. 

I  obtained  some  insight  into  the  life  and  character 
of  the  Swiss  people,  owing  to  the  fact  that  while  I  was  in 
Zurich,  until  the  time  of  my  marriage,  I  always  lived 
with  Swiss  people. 

My  very  first  landlady  surprised  me  one  day  by  the 
fact  that  she,  a  simple  woman  of  the  people,  was  able  to 
express  herself  in  French  as  well  as  in  her  Zurich  German. 
But  I  did  not  stay  with  her  long  enough  to  discover  how 
and  where  she  learned  French.  Probably  as  a  young 
girl  she  spent  some  time  in  situations  in  French  Switzer¬ 
land.  A  very  large  percentage  of  the  German-Swiss 
think  it  advisable  to  spend  some  time  in  “  Welsch  ” 
(French-speaking)  Switzerland,  and  in  the  same  way 


100 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


many  young  people  from  French  Switzerland  obtain 
situations  for  a  time  in  German  Switzerland,  so  that 
they  can  acquire  a  thorough  knowledge  of  German. 
In  middle-class  families  it  is  a  widespread  custom  to 
exchange  their  children,  whilst  still  of  tender  years, 
for  children  of  the  same  social  class  from  the  other 
linguistic  division  of  the  Confederacy,  so  that  they  may 
acquire  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  other  language. 
But  when  one  of  these  children  returns  home,  after  an 
absence  of  four  or  five  years,  he  has  not  infrequently 
quite  forgotten  his  own  language,  and  at  first  he  is  always 
trying  to  speak  his  adopted  tongue.  But  he  soon  picks 
up  his  mother-tongue  once  more,  and  in  the  meantime, 
having  attained  to  riper  years,  he  retains  as  much  of 
the  other  language  as  will  always  enable  him  to  make 
himself  understood.  The  effect  of  all  this  is  that  a  great 
many  Swiss  are  practically  bi-lingual. 

After  lodging  for  a  short  time  with  the  above-men¬ 
tioned  landlady,  in  one  of  the  narrow  streets  that  run 
upwards  from  the  Limmatkai  to  the  Niederdorfstrasse, 

I  obtained  a  room  in  a  massive  structure  in  the  handsome 
Bahnhofstrasse  which  was  known  as  the  Zentralhof. 
This  room  was  on  the  fourth  floor — I  have  always  aimed 
high  in  the  matter  of  lodgings — but  it  was  spacious  and 
very  well  furnished.  The  ceiling  was  so  beautifully 
decorated  that  when  Gottfried  Kinkel  once  paid  me  a 
chance  visit  he  stood  still  for  quite  a  long  time  on  enter¬ 
ing  the  room,  in  order  to  admire  my  ceiling.  My  land¬ 
lady  had  rented  the  whole  of  the  third  and  fourth  floors, 
and  had  furnished  the  rooms  excellently,  in  order  to 
sublet  them.  But  it  proved  a  very  bad  investment  for 
her,  as  I  learned  later  on. 

This  lady  came  of  a  patrician  family  of  the  Canton  ij 
Bern,  and  was  afflicted  with  all  the  prejudices  of  her 
class.  She  was  an  arch-Conservative;  she  was  fond  of 
speaking  of  the  Neufchatel  Legitimists,  of  the  Pourtales, 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


101 


the  Rougemonts,  and  other  aristocrats  ;  she  was  highly 
indignant  over  the  mobilisation  of  the  civic  property  in 
her  home  district,  and  was  horrorstruck  when  I  one  day 
explained  to  her  that  it  would  be  much  more  sensible  to 
give  up  her  two  big  apartments,  sell  her  furniture, 
set  up  a  shop  with  the  proceeds,  and  attend  to  the 
business  with  her  daughter’s  help.  “  What  are  you 
thinking  of  ?  Keep  a  shop  ?  Never  !  ”  was  her  in¬ 
dignant  reply. 

And  this  same  woman  performed  the  roughest  and 
most  exhausting  household  tasks,  until  she  had  liter¬ 
ally  worked  herself  to  death.  With  her  daughter,  an 
innocently  lively  girl  of  eighteen  years,  with  a  roguish 
light  in  her  brown  eyes,  she  saw  to  all  the  work  of  the 
two  flats,  with  no  other  help  than  that  of  a  charwoman, 
who  came  twice  a  week  for  the  heavier  tasks.  It  did  not, 
in  her  eyes,  discredit  her  socially  that  she  and  her 
daughter  should  act  as  the  lodgers’  maid-servants  so 
long  as  appearances  were  kept  up  outside  the  house.  But 
she  was  honest  to  the  bone,  and  was  so  far  from  over¬ 
charging  her  lodgers,  as  I  once  calculated  when  dis¬ 
cussing  her  affairs  with  her,  that  even  if  all  the  rooms 
had  been  let  and  none  of  the  tenants  had  fallen  into 
arrears  with  their  rent,  she  would  still  have  been  the 
loser  to  the  amount  of  nearly  thirty  pounds  a  year. 

But  there  were  always  one  or  two  unlet  rooms, 
and  also  tenants  who  fell  into  arrears — often  to  a  very 
considerable  extent,  for  they  were  given  a  great  deal  of 
latitude  in  the  matter  of  payment.  In  those  days  a 
great  deal  of  credit  was  given  in  Zurich.  I  came  across 
all  sorts  of  cases  of  incredible  dealings  on  a  credit  basis. 
Very  significant  in  this  respect  was  the  notice  engraved 
upon  a  plate  which  a  much-respected  democratic  scholar 
and  politician,  Professor  Salomon  Vogelin,  had  attached 
to  his  front  door  :  "  No  surety  will  be  granted  here.” 

How  often  must  he  have  been  asked  to  go  surety 


102 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


for  a  loan  before  he  decided  to  fix  such  a  plate  upon  his 
door  !  Vogelin  had  originally  been  a  pastor,  and  as 
such  had  subscribed  to  the  radical  Reformed  Theology 
of  the  Zurich  school ;  but  he  afterwards  exchanged  the 
pulpit  for  the  professorial  chair,  lecturing  on  the  his¬ 
torical  criticism  of  religion.  A  brilliant  speaker,  who 
knew  how  to  flavour  his  lectures  with  sarcasm,  he  was  a 
valued  fighter  in  the  ranks  of  democracy,  and  was  in 
close  sympathy  with  the  Labour  movement,  at  whose 
congresses  he  had  presented  admirable  reports  on  the 
subject  of  extending  the  Factory  Acts.  Pastors  and 
ex-pastors,  more  especially  apostles  of  the  Reformed 
Theology,  played  a  considerable  part  in  the  Demo¬ 
cratic  Party  of  Zurich.  The  chief  organ  of  the  party, 
the  Winterthur  Landbote,  was  edited  by  three  ex-pastors, 
who  were  often  spoken  of  as  “  the  three  worshipful 
pastors  of  Gemsberg.”  Gemsberg  was  the  house  in 
which  the  Landbote  was  set  up.  There  was  no  lack 
either  of  practising  pastors  who  frankly  confessed  them¬ 
selves  to  be  Social  Democrats. 

How  matters  had  altered  since  the  days  of  1839, 
when  a  shower  of  petitions  from  the  Conservatives  and 
religious  fanatics  succeeded  in  making  it  impossible 
for  David  Friedrich  Strauss,  who  had  been  called  to 
the  University  of  Zurich,  to  take  up  his  appointment  ! 
It  was  a  long  time  before  the  author  of  the  Life  of  Jesus 
recovered  from  the  injustice  then  inflicted  upon  him, 
and  he  held  the  Republic  responsible  for  it.  But  when 
he  came  to  Zurich  in  the  sixties,  as  a  guest,  and  his 
admirers  made  holiday  in  honour  of  his  visit,  the  spirit 
moved  him,  as  after  the  banquet  he  climbed  the  Kunst- 
lergasse  to  the  Polytechnic  in  the  company  of  his 
hosts,  to  pay  his  tribute  to  the  Republic.  Near  the 
splendid  building  erected  after  the  designs  of  Semper 
he  suddenly  stood  still  and  said  to  his  companions  : 
“  Gentlemen,  you  know  that  I  am  a  strict  Monarchist, 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


103 


and  I  shall  remain  one.  But  when  I  here  see  the  jewel 
of  Zurich  before  me,  and  how  upon  its  hill  it  lords  it 
over  Zurich,  then  I  am  forced  to  say  that  if  we  were  in  a 
monarchy  no  college  would  stand  here,  but  a  palace  or  a 
barracks.” 

There  is  certainly  no  lack  of  handsome  school  build¬ 
ings  in  Zurich  and  the  other  Swiss  cantons.  Even  in 
small  Swiss  market-towns  I  have  seen  splendid  school- 
houses  ;  but  the  schoolrooms  in  Switzerland  are  used 
much  more  frequently  than  is  the  case  in  Germany  by 
societies  of  all  kinds,  for  congresses,  etc.,  and  no  ex¬ 
ception  is  made  in  respect  of  Socialist  conferences. 
However,  in  Switzerland  the  Socialists  had  already  been 
granted  the  use  even  of  church  premises  for  their  meet¬ 
ings,  whereby,  of  course,  such  premises  were  only 
devoted  to  a  purpose  which  they  had  served  in  an 
earlier  age.  And  never  has  a  church  building  served  a 
worthier  purpose  than  did  the  old  Minster  in  the  city 
of  Basle,  on  the  25th  of  November  1912,  when  the 
best  speakers  of  Social  Democracy  were  enabled  to  raise 
their  voices  in  favour  of  international  peace.  In  the 
mid-eighties  we  were  permitted  to  hold  a  Labour  Con¬ 
gress  in  the  sessions  hall  of  the  Zurich  Assize  Court,  and 
the  writer  of  these  pages,  who  was  one  of  the  chairmen 
of  the  Congress,  could  not  refrain  from  thinking  :  “  Who 
knows  but  one  day  soon  you  will  have  to  stand  on  the 
other  side  of  that  green  table  ?  ”  For  I  was  at  that 
time  a  wicked  political  malefactor. 

In  the  school  buildings  of  the  town  of  Olten  the 
Congress  was  held  in  1874  at  which  the  Swiss  Workers’ 
League  was  created.  No  schoolroom  was  necessary 
when  we,  in  1880,  in  the  same  town  of  Olten,  where  the 
two  chief  railway  lines  of  Switzerland  cross  one  another, 
gathered  to  form  a  Congress  which  laid  the  League  in 
its  tomb.  A  big  room  in  an  inn  sufficed  to  hold  the 


104 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


delegates  assembled.  Simultaneously  with  the  resolu¬ 
tion  that  the  League  be  dissolved  and  the  organisation 
of  Swiss  labour  placed  on  a  new  foundation  another 
resolution  was  accepted,  to  the  effect  that  the  Tagwacht 
should  be  discontinued  and  should  be  replaced  by  a 
paper  for  which  the  name  Arbeiterstimme  (the  Workers’ 
Voice)  was  adopted.  The  Swiss  Socialist  Herter  was 
appointed  editor  ;  an  honest,  unassuming  man,  who  took 
great  pains  to  make  the  paper  succeed,  but  was  no  better 
able  than  Greulich  to  overcome  unpropitious  cir¬ 
cumstances. 

As  I  have  already  mentioned,  the  treacherous  blow 
of  the  German  anti-Socialist  laws  was  fatal  to  the  League 
and  its  organ.  Although  the  Tagwacht  was  especially 
the  foreign  organ  of  German  Social  Democracy,  a  sort 
of  rival  to  it  appeared  at  the  end  of  September  1879, 
under  the  title  of  Der  Sozialdemokrat,  which  attracted 

■r  ■ 

to  itself  the  most  intellectually  active  portion  of  the 
German  workers  living  in  Switzerland. 

The  story  of  the  foundation  of  the  Zurich  Sozial¬ 
demokrat ,  enlivened  by  all  manner  of  interesting  details, 
has  often  been  told  already.  August  Bebel  has  devoted 
a  long  chapter  to  it,  in  the  third  volume  of  his  Recol¬ 
lections ?,x  so  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  subject  here,  largely 
as  I  myself  was  concerned  in  the  matter.  It  was  in 
the  nature  of  things  that  after  the  creation  of  this 
newspaper  the  premises  where  it  was  set  up  and  pub¬ 
lished  would  become  a  centre  of  German  Social  Democ¬ 
racy  until  the  latter  should  develop  a  public  party  life 
of  its  own.  A  whole  circle  of  politicians  gathered 
about  the  editorial  and  publishing  offices  of  the  Sozial¬ 
demokrat ,  and  at  the  suggestion  of  the  Zurich  party 
affiliated  branches  of  the  German  Social  Democratic 
Party  were  founded  in  the  more  important  centres 

1  An  abridged  translation  is  published  by  Messrs.  T.  Fisher  Unwin, 
under  the  title,  My  Life . 


105 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 

throughout  Switzerland,  where  they  made  the  affairs  of 
the  party  their  special  concern.  Georg  von  Vollmar 
was  the  first  editor  of  the  Zurich  Sozialdemokrat.  We 
need  not  waste  more  words  over  his  distinguished  per¬ 
sonality  and  his  significance  :  in  the  winter  of  1 880-81 
he  acted  in  alternation  with  my  humble  self,  and  as  before 
Vollmar  secured  Wilhelm  Liebknecht  for  me  as  an 
equally  privileged  contributor.  The  administration  of 
the  paper  and  its  dispatch  to  subscribers  was  under¬ 
taken,  soon  after  its  foundation,  by  Julius  Motteler, 
who  was,  in  his  day,  with  Bebel,  Liebknecht,  and 
others,  one  of  the  draughtsmen  of  the  Eisenach  pro¬ 
gramme  of  the  Social  Democratic  Labour  Party  ;  a 
man  of  peculiar  and  variable  mentality,  who  through 
his  activities  as  a  prominent  man  of  business  had  ob¬ 
tained  considerable  experience  of  various  co-operative 
societies,  and  had  proved  himself  to  be,  from  every  point 
of  view,  a  particularly  trustworthy  colleague.  Since 
the  distribution  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  in  Germany  was 
forbidden  by  virtue  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws,  it  had  to 
be  smuggled  into  the  Empire,  and  a  little  smuggling  was 
also  necessary  to  forward  the  forbidden  journal  from 
certain  centres  to  localities  where  it  already  had 
readers. 

In  the  organisation  and  management  of  this  smuggling, 
Motteler,  supported  by  capable  and  devoted  collaborators, 
performed  such  important  services  that  the  qualification 
of  magnificent  would  involve  no  exaggeration.  To 
send  a  weekly  journal,  with  a  circulation  of  over  ten 
thousand,  year  out,  year  in,  across  the  frontier,  and 
then  to  forward  it  to  its  various  destinations,  with  so 
much  certainty  that  it  reached  the  subscribers  almost 
as  regularly  as  a  newspaper  published  in  the  neighbour¬ 
hood,  was  a  problem  of  whose  magnitude  the  unin¬ 
itiated  could  scarcely  form  a  just  idea.  But  it  was 
solved,  and  the  man  who  had  preceded  Motteler  in 


106 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  conduct  of  the  smuggling  business,  and  who  re¬ 
mained  to  the  end  his  energetic  co-operator,  Joseph 
Belli,  has  told  the  story,  rich  in  vicissitudes,  grave  and 
gay,  of  the  smuggling  of  the  Zurich  Sozialdemokrat  into 
the  German  Empire,  with  lively  intuition  and  much 
humour,  in  a  booklet  which  will  give  even  outsiders  an 
idea  of  the  difficulties  encountered — difficulties  over¬ 
whelming,  yet  overcome.  The  book  was  published  by 
Dietz  in  Stuttgart  in  1912,  under  the  title  of  Die  rote 
Feldpost  und  anderes  (The  Red  Army  Post  and  other 
matters).  Motteler  had  given  the  name  of  Feldpost  to 
the  staff  of  the  genuine  smugglers,  working  principally 
under  Belli’s  leadership,  but  they  dubbed  Motteler  their 
postmaster,  which  later  on  developed  into  the  nickname 
of  “  The  Red  Postmaster/’  by  which  Julius  Motteler 
lives  on  in  the  memory  of  his  colleagues  and  disciples. 
But  Motteler’s  apartment  on  the  ground  floor  of  a 
corner  house  on  the  higher  Wolfbach,  in  Hottingen,  near 
Zurich,  and  in  particular  the  dispatching-room  belonging 
to  it,  was  known  as  Der  Olymp  (Olympus).  Here  now 
were  gathered  together  the  threads  of  that  part  of  the 
management  of  the  Social  Democratic  Party  which  con¬ 
cerned  itself  with  the  Sozialdemokrat.  Hither  for  the 
most  part  climbed  Bebel  and  Liebknecht,  and  other 
leaders  of  the  party  who  were  working  in  Germany 
itself,  when  they  came  to  Zurich  on  the  business  of  the 
party,  as  was  then  fairly  often  the  case.  And  here,  too, 
was  the  centre  for  the  surveillance,  and  perhaps  the 
unmasking  of  those  who  were  suspected  of  being  police 
agents,  or  were  otherwise  dubious  persons. 

During  the  first  year  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  one  heard 
little  of  such  fellows.  But  this  period  saw  the  gathering 
of  a  social  assemblage  which  some  one — I  don’t  know 
who — called  the  Zurich  Moorish  Club,  in  memory  of  the 
Moorish  Club  of  Berlin,  which  I  mentioned  in  my  third 
chapter  ;  and  a  merry  time  we  often  had  in  the  new 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


107 


“  club.”  An  assembly-room  of  the  inn  at  Thaleck  in 
Hottingen  (Thalegg,  in  the  Zurich  dialect)  was  sacred, 
on  a  certain  evening  in  the  week,  to  the  staff  of  the 
Sozialdemokrat.  This  included,  besides  Motteler  and 
Vollmar,  a  Socialist  of  Polish  origin,  Emil  Schimanowski 
(who,  with  pathetic  loyalty,  was  more  devoted  to  the 
cause  of  his  native  land,  yet  furthered  the  cause  of 
Germany  with  more  effect),  old  Biirkli,  Hermann 
Greulich,  Karl  Kautsky,  my  humble  self,  and  certain 
of  our  most  trusted  comrades  of  German,  Swiss,  and  \ 
Slav  nationality,  together  with  any  guests  of  ours  who 
were  for  the  time  being  in  Zurich.  We  indulged  in 
unrestricted  conversation,  and  since  most  of  us  were 
still  young  in  those  days,  there  was,  as  a  rule,  plenty 
of  jesting,  and  all  manner  of  songs  were  sung.  Motteler 
was  a  capital  fellow,  very  good,  amongst  other  things, 
at  acting  as  chairman  at  a  “  sing-song/’  when  he  would 
sometimes  make  the  rule  that  any  one  who  failed  to 
obey  certain  precepts — such  as  the  omission  of  certain 
syllables,  or  the  like — had  to  pay  a  fine  for  the  good  of 
the  party,  which  was  always  willingly  done.  Vollmar, 
who  was  musical,  accompanied  our  singing  on  the  piano, 
or  sang  to  his  own  accompaniment  on  the  zither.  Karl 
Kautsky,  a  nimble  and  extremely  inventive  person, 
delighted  us,  when  our  mood  was  more  than  usually 
extravagant,  by  irresistibly  amusing  imitations  of 
acrobats,  or  as  a  fantastic  dancer.  What  I  used  to  do 
I  will  let  August  Bebel  tell  you.  Describing  these  lively 
evenings  at  the  Moorish  Club,  when  he  and  Liebknecht 
came  to  Zurich,  he  says,  in  his  Recollections  : 

“  Then,  with  peculiar  devoutness,  the  famous  *  Song 
of  the  Burgomeister  Tschech  ’  was  sung.  Burgomaster 
Tscliech,  in  the  eighteen-forties,  attempted  to  assassin¬ 
ate  Friedrich  Wilhelm  iv.,  with  rather  comical  results. 
Eduard  Bernstein  was  the  soloist,  and  the  refrain  was 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


108 

sung  in  chorus.  This  song  was  followed  by  the  equally 
celebrated  ‘  Petroleum  Song/  and  other  similar  satirical 
songs,  relating  to  the  conditions  in  Germany.  Or 
Eduard  Bernstein  and  Karl  Kautsky — who  were  then 
the  two  inseparables — would  sing  a  duet,  in  a  manner 
which  would  break  one's  heart,  or  soften  a  stone/' 

Old  Biirkli  used  to  afford  us  a  great  treat,  which  he 
had  to  provide  again  and  again  ;  he  would  tell  us  of  a 
scene  in  the  ecclesiastical  life  of  Zurich  in  which  he 
himself  had  taken  part.  It  was  in  the  old  church  of 
St.  Peter,  where  Lavater  used  to  teach.  Here,  about 
the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  an  elderly  preacher 
used  to  officiate,  who  adhered  faithfully  to  his  Zurich 
German,  and,  what  is  more,  spoke  it  with  the  broadest 
of  Zurich  accents.  He  was  given  as  assistant  a  young 
clergyman  who  had  been  educated  in  Germany,  and 
who  was  accustomed,  in  the  pulpit,  to  employ  the 
unctuous  tone  of  the  North  German  theologian.  When 
the  two  of  them,  at  the  end  of  the  service,  read  alternate 
sentences  of  the  Evangelical  Creed,  the  contrast  between 
the  two  voices  was  comical  in  the  extreme,  and  Biirkli 
reproduced  it  in  a  masterly  manner.  It  is  difficult  to 
convey  a  true  conception  of  this  performance  to  the 
reader,  but  the  following  will  give  him  some  idea  of  it  : 

The  Old  Preacher  ( with  a  guttural  accent ,  broad 
vowels,  and  yet  broader  diphthongs) :  Ah  belaev  ’n  Gawd 
the  Feyther  Ahlmoighty,  CrratT  av  Hehvn  ’n  airth  ; 

The  Assistant  (in  a  high-pitched,  unctuous  voice, 
speaking  the  literary  language,  with  an  affected  accent) : 
And  in  Jesus  Chraist  his  only  begotten  Son  ; 

And  so  on  to  the  conclusion  : 

The  Old  Preacher  :  Ah  belaev  ’n  th’  Hawly  Ghoost ; 

The  Assistant:  One  hdly  Christian  community  ; 


109 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 

The  Old  Preacher  :  The  res’rection  o’  the  flaish  ; 

The  Assistant  :  And  the  laife  everlasting.  Amen. 

Among  the  Slav  guests  of  the  Moorish  Club  were  a 
few  Serbian  Socialists  who  were  studying  in  Zurich, 
and  these  sometimes  brought  with  them  two  young 
compatriots  who  were  still  in  the  first  class  at  the 
gymnasium.  We  were  told  sub  rosa  that  they  were 
the  sons  of  a  Serbian  prince  who  had  been  executed  for 
high  treason.  They  were  the  brothers  Nenadovich, 
cousins  of  Prince  Peter  Karageorgevich,  then  living  in 
exile,  and  one  of  them,  who  afterwards  practised  as  a 
doctor  in  Vienna,  played  a  prominent  part  as  inter¬ 
mediary  in  the  events  which  set  Peter  on  the  throne  of 
Serbia  in  1903.  Whether  he  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  murder  of  King  Alexander  and  his  wife  is  more  than 
I  can  say.  One  might  expect  as  much  from  the  son  of 
a  man  who  was  beheaded  by  Alexander’s  father.  But 
when  I  knew  him  and  his  brother  they  impressed  me 
only  by  their  reserved  and  unassuming  demeanour. 

It  is  said  that  Peter  Karageorgevich  himself  one  day 
appeared  in  the  Moorish  Club.  It  is  possible,  certainly, 
in  view  of  the  foregoing,  but  I  heard  nothing  of  it  at  the 
time  ;  however,  it  would  hardly  have  made  any  par¬ 
ticular  impression  upon  me.  When  in  the  year  1883  one 
of  the  Nenadovich  brothers,  whom  I  met  in  the  street, 
informed  me,  his  face  beaming  with  delight,  of  the 
betrothal  of  his  cousin  Karageorgevich  to  one  of  the 
daughters  of  Nicolas  of  Montenegro,  I  did  no  more  than 
make  some  conventional  rejoinder  ;  the  hopes  of  the 
Karageorgevich  were  Hecuba  to  me.  However  objec¬ 
tionable  the  description  which  a  Serbian  Socialist  had 
given  me  of  Milan  Obrenovich,  who  was  then  on  the 
throne  of  Serbia,  his  dethronement  would  have  been  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  me  had  it  only  meant  a  change 
of  dynasty  ;  Serbia,  in  those  days,  played  a  very  different 


110 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


part  in  international  politics  to  that  which  history 
thrust  upon  her  later.  But  I  was  much  more  in  sym¬ 
pathy  with  the  national  movement  for  the  liberation  of 
the  Serbs,  as  of  the  Bulgarians,  than  were  the  majority 
of  my  German  comrades. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

On  the  whole,  the  Moorish  Club  had  few  visitors  of 
Slavish  origin.  In  the  early  eighties,  after  the  Zurich 
Section  of  the  International  had  been  dissolved,  a  society 
known  as  “  Slavia  ”  was  founded  by  the  students  who 
spoke  the  Slav  languages.  This  society,  as  its  name 
indicates,  embraced  all  Slavs  without  distinction  of 
nationality ;  and  although  it  was  officially  innocent  of 
political  tendencies,  the  Democratic  and  Socialistic 
element  gave  it  a  political  complexion.  I  was  present 
at  the  meeting  convened  for  the  purpose  of  founding  the 
society,  when  the  official  language  was  German,  and  I 
was  always  glad  to  visit  the  Society  subsequently.  It 
interested  me  to  observe  the  behaviour  of  the  Slavs 
towards  one  another,  and  I  must  say  that  I  received  a 
thoroughly  favourable  impression.  The  Russians,  of 
course,  from  the  fact  that  they  constituted  the  great 
majority,  very  tactfully  avoided  taking  any  advantage 
in  the  shape  of  outvoting  the  rest.  They  appeared  to 
be  the  least  “  national  ”  of  all  the  various  elements. 
But  the  other  Slavs  also  gave  the  first  place  to  the  spirit 
of  comradeship.  When  in  the  autumn  of  1885  the 
Serbo-Bulgarian  war  was  unloosed  by  King  Milan  and 
his  henchmen,  those  Serbian  and  Bulgarian  students 
who  were  called  to  the  colours  attended  a  special  banquet, 
at  which  they  fraternised  in  a  very  striking  and  demon¬ 
strative  fashion.  But  the  Society  was  not  long-lived. 
The  Russian  Socialists  held  interminable  meetings  of 
their  own,  for  the  discussion  of  their  internal  political 
controversies,  and  a  Russian  library  and  a  reading-room 
were  established,  so  that  more  and  more  Russians 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZORICH 


111 


deserted  the  "  Slavia.”  The  non-Russian  Slavs  were  as 
yet  too  weak  in  numbers  to  keep  the  Society  alive  by 
their  own  efforts. 

The  Slavish  students  whom  I  knew  in  those  days  were 
differentiated  from  the  average  German  student  by  their 
great  moderation  in  the  consumption  of  alcohol  and 
their  interest  in  everything  relating  to  democracy.  Of 
course  they  were,  in  a  way,  to  be  regarded  as  a  selection 
from  the  mass  of  the  students  of  their  native  countries. 
But  it  was  evident  from  what  they  told  me  of  the  con¬ 
ditions  in  their  own  high  schools  that  their  manner  of 
life  was  not  essentially  different  from  what  it  was  at 
home.  Undoubtedly  ideology  had  a  greater  influence 
on  their  academic  youth  than  in  the  land  of  Kant  and 
Schiller.  Among  the  German  students  in  Zurich  almost 
everything  that  lay  outside  of  their  special  faculty  was 
pervaded  by  the  spirit  that  expresses  itself  in  the  present 
utterances  of  German  scholars,  which  one  can  scarcely 
call  ideology. 

But  temperate  as  my  Slav  acquaintances  were  in  the 
matter  of  beer,  they — or  at  least  the  Russians — were 
correspondingly  intemperate  in  their  consumption  of 
tea  and  cigarettes.  But  the  tea  which  they  drank  was 
a  very  weak  infusion,  and  the  cigarettes  they  used  to 
roll  themselves.  However,  the  quantity  of  this  infusion 
consumed  was  enormous,  and  I  was  seldom  in  the  com¬ 
pany  of  Russians  who  were  not  occupied  either  in  rolling 
or  smoking  papyrossi. 

With  a  few  Russians  we  became  seriously  intimate, 
politically  speaking.  Kautsky  and  I  struck  up  a  par¬ 
ticular  friendship  with  Paul  Axelrod,  who,  together  with 
Georg  Plechanow  and  Vera  Sassulitsch,  was  a  founder 
of  the  avowedly  Marxist  faction  of  the  Russian  Socialists  ; 
and  through  Axelrod  I  came  to  know,  in  addition  to  the 
above-named,  his  countryman,  Leo  Deutsch,  the  author 
of  Sixteen  Years  in  Siberia  (Dietz,  Stuttgart),  shortly 


112 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


before  he  was  arrested,  thanks  to  some  informer  or 
other,  at  Freiburg  in  Breisgau,  while  travelling  through 
Germany,  when  the  Baden  police  handed  him  over  to 
the  Prussian  authorities,  who  in  turn  surrendered  him 
to  Russia.  Deutsch  was  then  still  a  fairly  young  man, 
strong-willed  and  full  of  the  joy  of  life.  When  I  saw  him 
again,  twenty  years  later,  after  his  return  from  Siberia, 
he  was  aged  beyond  his  years,  and  sat  most  of  the  time 
withdrawn  into  himself.  Who  denounced  him  never 
became  known,  although  Julius  Motteler  made  every 
effort  possible  to  discover  the  offender,  and  the  dis¬ 
covery  of  police  spies  was  Motteler’s  peculiar  and  assidu¬ 
ously  practised  art,  one  might  almost  say  his  favourite 
sport.  Even  before  Deutsch’s  arrest  our  community 
had  a  great  catch  of  this  kind,  the  knowledge  of  which 
caused  a  good  deal  of  noise  at  the  time.  The  story 
takes  us  back  to  the  premises  where  the  Moorish  Club 
used  to  meet,  and  a  particular  recollection  in  connection 
with  it,  which  might  well  be  mentioned  here,  but’  that 
August  Bebel  has  already  related  it  in  his  autobiography. 
In  the  house  at  Thaleck,  at  the  corner  of  the  Zeltweg 
and  the  Steinwiesgasse,  where  the  Moorish  Club  used  to 
meet  in  the  tavern  on  the  ground  floor,  Zurich's  famous 
poet,  Gottfried  Keller,  was  lodging  at  the  time  of  which 
we  are  speaking.  Now  one  evening  when  Paul  Heyse 
was  visiting  Keller,  and  heard  the  loud  “  sing-song  ”  in 
the  room  on  the  ground  floor,  he  asked  who  was  making 
such  a  noise  down  there.  “  Those  are  the  Social 
Democrats,"  answered  Keller,  in  his  semi-Zurich  Ger¬ 
man.  Whereupon  the  poet  of  the  “  Children  of  the 
World  ”  struck  an  attitude  and  with  comical  pathos 
declaimed  : 

“  Dort  unter  der  Schwelle 
Brodelt  die  Holle.” 

(There  beneath  the  threshold 
Hell  is  seething.) 

Although  I  could  easily  have  made  Keller’s  personal 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZORICH 


113 


acquaintance,  since  my  friend  Reinhold  Ruegg  was  on 
very  friendly  terms  with  him,  I  allowed  the  opportunity 
to  slip.  This  was  not  out  of  any  lack  of  interest,  but 
rather  because  of  a  characteristic  which  has  often 
hampered  me  in  other  ways.  A  peculiar  shyness  kept 
me  from  allowing  myself  to  be  introduced  to  persons  of 
importance  if  I  had  not  political  business  with  them.  I 
could  not  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  I  personally  was  not 
of  sufficient  importance  to  justify  the  introduction. 
For  this  reason  I  avoided  entering  into  relations  with 
two  scientists  of  great  celebrity,  who  were  then  living 
in  Zurich,  and  were  closely  connected  with  my  family  : 
the  physiologist,  Ludimar  Hermann,  and  the  chemist, 
Victor  Meyer,  although  as  regards  the  latter  I  had  the 
greatest  admiration  for  his  genius  and  his  fascinating 
personality.  Perhaps  this  was  why  I  avoided  him. 

But  although  I  have  never  spoken  to  the  poet  of 
“  der  griinen  Heinrich,”  I  have  seen  him  often  enough. 
For  a  long  while  Gottfried  Keller  used  occasionally,  as 
he  went  homewards  to  his  inn  on  the  borders  of  Zurich 
and  Hottingen,  to  turn  into  the  Pfauen.  There  he 
would  sit,  all  alone,  drinking  his  mug  of  beer  or  wine. 
I,  at  some  distance,  was  doing  the  same,  for  the  tavern 
lay  conveniently  on  my  homeward  route,  so  that  we 
two  might  have  given  a  representation  of  the  famous 
epic  of  the  Farmer  and  the  Old  Owl — "  The  Farmer 
stared  at  the  Owl,  the  Owl  at  the  Farmer  stared  ” — if 
the  interest  had  been  mutual. 

“  His  mug  ”  must  not  be  taken  literally,  for  Keller, 
like  the  majority  of  Zurichers,  was  a  courageous  drinker. 
When  I  saw  him  turning  homeward  from  the  inn  I  often 
had  the  impression  that  he  had  a  full  cargo  on  board. 
There  is  an  anecdote  concerning  him  which  has  certainly 
appeared  in  print  somewhere  before  this.  Late  in  the 
evening  Keller  wanted  to  return  to  his  lodgings,  into 
which  he  had  only  just  moved,  and  he  was  not  sure  of 
8 


114 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  way  ;  so  he  called  out  to  a  passer-by  :  “  Ho,  chonnet 
Ihr  mir  nit  sage,  wo-n-ich  wohn’  ?  ”  (Hi,  can  you 
tell  me  where  I  live  ?)  The  passer-by  gazed  at  him  in 
astonishment.  “  Der  Tuusig,  Ihr  seid  ja  der  Gottfried 
Keller  !  ”  (The  deuce,  you  are  surely  Gottfried  Keller  !) 
Keller  lost  his  temper  :  “  Dummer  chaib  !  Han  ich  eu 
gefraget,  wer  ich  bin  ?  Ich  han  eu  gfragt,  wo-n-ich 
wohn’  !  ”  (Silly  sheep,  did  I  ask  you  who  I  am  ?  I 
asked  you,  where  do  I  live  ?) 

This  is  not  told  in  depreciation  of  the  poet.  Drinking 
and  “  treating  ”  were  regarded  as  perfectly  righteous 
employments  in  Zurich.  Thus,  my  Zurich  doctor, 
when  I  was  suffering  from  a  really  severe  cold,  advised 
me  to  take  six  strong  glasses  of  grog  before  I  went  to 
sleep,  and  added  dr  oily  :  “I  often  do  so  myself,  as 
a  prophylactic.”  My  compatriots  Beust  and  his  sons 
were  also  heavy  drinkers.  The  younger  son  once  tried 
to  drink  our  Wilhelm  Liebknecht  under  the  table  ;  but 
the  old  man  was  weather-proof  and  the  contest  remained 
undecided. 

For  me  the  Zurich  thirst  remained  an  unknown  thing, 
although  I  sat  for  years  by  the  fountain’s  edge.  I  was 
living  with  a  friend  of  my  own  way  of  thinking,  a 
traveller  for  a  great  Hungarian  wine-grower,  and  as  my 
relations  with  him  and  his  family  were  uncommonly 
friendly  I  had  plenty  of  wine  offered  me  ;  but  I  seldom 
took  advantage  of  the  offer. 

The  leading  personalities  of  the  Moorish  Club  were 
extremely  temperate,  which  was  not  solely  due  to  the 
fact  that  all  of  us,  with  the  exception  of  Hochberg, 
who  was  merely  a  sojourner  among  us,  had  only  very 
modest  means  at  our  disposal.  Vollmar,  who  could 
carry  a  great  deal,  drank  nothing  at  all  at  home,  and 
only  a  little  in  the  tavern.  Motteler  never  touched  a 
drop  of  alcohol ;  Kautsky,  by  preference,  followed  his 
example  ;  so  did  Karl  Hochberg  ;  and  as  for  myself 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


115 


any  exploits  of  this  kind  worthy  of  mention  were  already 
things  of  the  past.  So,  since  Vollmar,  Kautsky,  and  I 
were  non-smokers  into  the  bargain,  Benoit  Malon,  who 
lived  in  Zurich  through  the  summer  and  autumn  of 
1879,  was,  thanks  to  us,  entirely  confounded  as  to  the 
opinion  which  he,  as  a  Frenchman,  had  formed  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  Germans.  His  idea  of  a  German 
had  been  a  man  who  was  a  terrific  smoker,  and  was 
for  ever  swilling  beer. 

•  •••••• 

And  now  for  the  trapping  of  the  police  agents.  One 
day  in  the  year  1884  there  came  to  the  Thaleck  tavern 
a  merchant,  Elias  Schmidt,  from  Dresden,  who  repre¬ 
sented  himself  to  the  Socialists  who  repaired  thither  as 
professing  the  same  ideas.  He  had,  he  informed  us, 
gone  into  bankruptcy,  and  had  left  his  native  country 
with  the  remnants  of  his  property.  In  his  opinions  he 
was  body  and  soul  a  Socialist,  and  he  sought  to  confirm 
the  impression  he  had  made  by  radical  turns  of  speech. 
He  paid  his  bill  regularly,  and  was  generous  in  the 
matter  of  standing  drinks.  But  we  older  hands  noticed 
at  once  that  he  did  not  know  much  about  Socialism, 
so  that  he  did  not  manage  to  impress  us.  It  .was  only 
on  a  number  of  the  younger  Socialists,  among  them  the 
somewhat  ingenuous  host  of  the  tavern,  the  Swiss 
Socialist,  J.  Obrist,  that  he  made  any  real  impression 
with  his  Radicalism  and  his  geniality.  With  them  our 
warnings  to  have  no  dealings  with  him  fell  upon  un¬ 
fruitful  soil,  and  were  even  referred  to  by  some  of  them 
as  undue  interference  on  our  part.  If  my  memory  does 
not  deceive  me,  it  was  then  that  the  term  Olympus  was 
adopted  as  the  name  of  our  headquarters  on  the  upper 
Wolfbach.  At  all  events,  it  was  first  used  by  people 
who,  without  being  Titans,  had  reason  for  feeling  annoyed 
with  headquarters.  Angry  words  were  spoken,  and  we 
began  to  avoid  the  place. 


116 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


At  last  even  the  good  Obrist  became  suspicious, 
for  a  reason  which  I  need  not  mention,  and  tackled 
Schmidt  with  the  help  of  a  comrade.  The  merchant 
willingly  allowed  his  room  to  be  searched,  and  nothing 
was  found  there  to  justify  the  searchers  in  concluding 
that  he  was  up  to  mischief.  But  when  they  insisted  on 
looking  through  the  contents  of  his  bulging  coat-pockets 
he  turned  pale,  and  suddenly  announced  that  he  had  a 
most  urgent  desire  to  visit  an  unmentionable  place. 
They  let  him  go,  but  noticed,  as  he  came  back,  that  it 
was  his  pockets  which  he  had  relieved  there.  Further 
investigation  revealed  to  the  searcher,  in  a  very  un¬ 
appetising  envelope,  a  whole  bundle  of  letters,  among 
which  was  the  equally  unappetising  correspondence  of 
Schmidt,  which  established  his  rascality  beyond  a 
doubt.  There  had  been  a  lively  exchange  of  letters 
between  the  worthy  bankrupt  and  the  chief  of  the 
Dresden  criminal  police  ;  he  had  also  offered  his  services 
to  the  police  of  Berlin  and  Stuttgart,  and  had  been  in 
communication  with  the  confidential  police  commissary, 
Kaltenbach,  who  was  stationed  at  Mulhouse  in  Alsace, 
and  was  apparently  in  the  Swiss  department  of  the 
Secret  Service.  His  letters  to  Schmidt  were  carefully 
cleansed,  and  were  added  to  the  Secret  Service  archives 
of  Social  Democracy  collected  by  Motteler.  Their 
contents,  however,  were  published  with  a  sufficient 
commentary  in  a  pamphlet  issued  by  the  Hottingen- 
Ziirich  V olksbuchhandlung ,  under  the  title :  Die 
Deutsche  Geheimpolizei  im  Kampfe  mit  der  Social- 
demo  kratie  (The  German  Secret  Police  in  the  Struggle 
with  Social  Democracy).  It  is  long  ago  out  of  print, 
and  only  to  be  found  in  a  library  here  and  there,  but 
has  not  yet  lost  all  interest.  The  letters  give  one  an 
interesting  glimpse  of  the  dealings  of  the  secret  police 
with  their  agents.  These  may,  in  general,  be  character¬ 
ised  by  the  proverb  :  “  Men  love  treachery,  and  despise 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


117 


the  traitor.”  There  is  plain  evidence  of  the  tendency  to 
keep  the  detective  as  short  of  money  as  is  possible, 
and  to  pay  him,  so  to  speak,  by  the  piece.  The  more 
information  the  detective  gives,  and  the  more  important 
it  is,  the  better  he  is  paid,  and  vice  versa.  A  convenient 
system,  and  a  rational  one,  if  considered  from  a  purely 
commercial  point  of  view,  but  one  which  has  the  most 
corrupting  influence  upon  the  men  to  whom  it  is  applied. 

It  is  the  best  way  of  turning  the  detective  into  a 
decoy — or,  rather,  an  agent  provocateur .  In  order  not 
to  lose  his  connection,  but  as  far  as  possible  to  increase 
it,  the  detective  who  is  paid  for  piece-work,  should  he 
lack  material  for  his  reports,  can  easily  proceed  to  manu¬ 
facture  it ;  that  is,  he  does  everything  possible  to 
induce  the  persons  upon  whom  he  is  spying  to  commit 
actions  which  they  would  not  otherwise  have  committed. 
Even  agents  of  the  police  who  are  paid  a  regular  salary 
succumb  to  this  temptation.  Since  they  hold  no  official 
situation,  but  are  always  waiting  for  orders,  they  are 
always  considering  how  they  can  contrive  to  send  in 
“  good  ”  reports.  Several  examples,  of  different  kinds, 
of  the  corrupting  effect  of  the  system  of  the  secret 
political  police  came  to  our  knowledge  in  the  course  of 
the  years ;  some  of  a  truly  shocking  nature.  The  informer 
was  not  always  a  traitor  to  begin  with.  Many  had 
originally  been  enlisted  to  furnish  apparently  harmless 
reports,  which  their  political  knowledge  enabled  them 
to  dictate,  and  it  was  not  until  afterwards  that  they  be¬ 
came  aware  that  they  were  the  prisoners  of  a  system 
which  allows  its  tools  no  chance  of  moral  regeneration. 
If  such  a  man  allowed  his  zeal  to  be  diminished  by  the 
burden  of  this  knowledge,  his  paymaster  would  coolly 
drop  him,  and  sometimes  none  too  gently.  There  were 
cases  where  one  could  with  difficulty  refrain  from  be¬ 
lieving  that  the  superior  authorities  had  got  rid  of  useless 
agents  by  assisting  the  other  party  to  come  off  best. 


118 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


The  more  the  circulation  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  in¬ 
creased,  the  more  numerous  became  the  staff  of  police 
and  police  agents  whose  mission  it  was  to  discover 
the  secret  methods  of  smuggling  and  to  get  on  the  track 
of  the  various  distributors.  In  the  German  Empire 
itself,  in  the  great  centres,  the  movement  was  spied  upon 
with  the  greatest  assiduity,  and  in  those  provinces  of 
Germany  that  lay  on  the  Swiss  frontier  the  surveillance 
was  intensified,  while  in  Zurich  persons  of  increasingly 
dubious  aspect  attempted  to  thrust  themselves  upon  the 
most  trusted  members  of  the  party.  Nothing,  of  course, 
could  have  been  more  profitable  than  to  obtain,  in  their 
headquarters,  an  insight  into  the  system  of  the  exiles, 
and  to  discover  their  main  arteries  of  distribution,  since 
this  would  provide  a  key  to  all  their  remoter  connections, 
and  would  make  it  possible  to  cripple  the  whole  organisa¬ 
tion  by  repeated  blows  delivered  in  given  places.  Despite 
all  their  pains,  however,  the  emissaries  and  voluntary 
informers  of  the  police  could  never  contrive  to  solve  this 
problem.  “  Olympus  ”  they  all  found  inaccessible.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Sozialdemokrat  was  over  and  over 
again  enabled  to  announce  the  unmasking  of  a  detective. 

But  not  only  detectives  had  to  be  guarded  against. 
In  every  Radical  opposition  there  are  numbers  of  persons, 
especially  when  they  have  to  operate  from  abroad,  who 
have  some  sort  of  personal  grudge  to  assuage,  or  who 
are  sooner  or  later  impelled,  by  a  thirst  for  adventure, 
to  excite  a  political  revolution.  They  become  dangerous 
because  they  commonly  develop  an  insuperable  longing 
for  action,  and  delight  in  all  sorts  of  crazy  projects,  which 
merely  compromise  the  movement.  For  them  the 
literary  campaign  is  not  personal  enough  ;  the  political 
contest  is  not  fierce  enough  ;  until  at  last  their  anger 
cools,  or  their  longing  for  adventure  finds  some  other 
field  of  activity,  and  they  feel  in  themselves  the  vocation 
not  to  overthrow  the  Fatherland,  but  to  liberate  it. 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


119 


A  typical  example  of  this  species  was  a  half-pay 
captain,  von  Ehrenberg,  who  joined  us  in  Zurich  about 
the  middle  of  the  eighties.  He  was  not  without  talents, 
but  was  possessed  by  a  frantic  ambition,  and  a  thirst  for 
revenge.  He  professed  to  be  a  legitimate  scion  of  the 
house  of  Zahring,  and  in  this  quality  regarded  himself 
as  the  head  of  the  ruling  family  of  the  sovereign  house  of 
Baden.  As  a  soldier  he  had  won  distinction  in  the 
Franco-Prussian  War,  but  later,  through  an  article 
attacking  the  system  of  parade-drill  and  the  like,  had 
made  himself  unpopular,  and  was  sentenced  to  six 
months’  imprisonment  in  a  fortress,  which  he  spent  in 
Wesel,  receiving  his  discharge  when  the  sentence  had 
been  served.  He  then  brooded  over  the  idea  of 
vengeance,  although  in  the  South  German  People’s 
Party,  which  he  joined  to  begin  with,  he  could  not  gratify 
his  desire,  so  that  Social  Democracy  served  him  as  a 
change  of  horses. 

He  came  to  Zurich,  and  as  he  brought  an  introduction 
from  a  trustworthy  comrade,  he  found  a  welcome  on 
the  upper  Wolf  bach.  Our  first  impression  of  him  was 
not  unfavourable.  A  small,  slender,  yet  strongly  built 
man,  he  was  at  first  very  unassuming  in  his  behaviour, 
and  was  apparently  a  fairly  docile  sort  of  person.  For 
example,  when,  in  reply  to  his  remark  that  he  thought 
of  giving  our  Zurich  workers  a  course  of  lectures  on 
military  science,  I  rejoined  that  I  should  not  advise  him 
to  do  so,  as  our  working  men  would  already  have  been 
instructed  by  the  military  authorities,  he  was  immediately 
silenced.  But  in  actual  fact  his  silence  meant  anything 
rather  than  consent.  I  had  done  for  myself  once  for  all 
in  his  eyes  by  my  objection.  What  he  was  planning  was 
to  teach  Socialist  workers  the  science  of  insurrection. 
Nothing  came  of  it,  as  he  had  probably  foreseen,  except 
that  a  few  restless  spirits  came  forward  who  had  hitherto 
lacked  a  mentor  of  his  calibre.  He  also  published 


120 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


instructions  to  insurgents,  which  he  had  intended  for 
the  Sozialdemokrat ,  under  the  title  of  “  Advice  for  the 
Defence  of  Zurich  in  the  Case  of  Hostile  Invasion/'  in 
the  Zurich  Arbeit erstimme.  The  articles  revealed  the 
expert  soldier,  but  they  also  betrayed  a  malicious  spirit 
whose  imagination  revelled  in  brutalities.  And  that 
this  brutality  was  in  his  case  not  only  imaginary  had 
appeared,  as  we  learned  later,  in  his  behaviour  to  the 
soldiers  subordinate  to  him  as  an  officer,  and  was  further 
revealed  by  the  cruel  manner  in  which  he  terrorised  his 
wife,  a  very  pretty  and  lovable  woman.  He  was  a  vege¬ 
tarian,  and,  like  a  genuine  faddist,  felt  obliged  to  declare 
his  inclinations  to  the  proletariat,  so  that  he  learned 
market-gardening,  and  loved  to  devote  himself  to  the 
heavy  work  of  digging,  hoeing,  etc.,  in  a  piece  of  land 
that  he  rented  for  the  purpose.  But  this  demonstra¬ 
tion  of  his  friendliness  toward  the  people  did  not  last 
overlong.  One  day  we  received  from  a  Socialist  living 
in  Paris,  a  Hungarian  by  nationality,  a  fragment  of  a 
fugitive  article  from  Ehrenberg’s  pen,  in  which  he 
fulminated  against  the  Zurich  Sozialdemokrat ,  which 
was  corrupting  the  party  through  its  unheard-of  modera¬ 
tion — and  this  at  a  time  when  the  Sozialdemokrat  was, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  greatest  disgrace  with  the 
majority  of  the  party  leaders  in  Germany,  as  the  organ 
of  the  Radical  opposition  within  the  party.  But  as 
if  this  were  not  enough,  Ehrenberg,  while  on  the  one 
hand  he  had  entered  into  alliance  with  the  Anarchists, 
was  at  the  same  time  endeavouring  to  do  business  with 
the  French  party  of  la  Revanche  grouped  about  General 
Boulanger.  He  had  informed  them  that  he  possessed 
the  plans  of  the  fortress  of  Wesel,  and  was  in  a  position, 
thanks  to  his  influence  with  Social  Democracy,  to  excite  * 
an  insurrection,  and  under  given  conditions  to  capture 
the  fortress  ;  and  he  named  a  fabulous  sum  of  money 
as  the  cost  of  the  preparations,  which  he  would  under- 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


121 


take  if  desired.  In  the  meantime,  it  seemed,  his  offer  had 
not  been  accepted  in  Paris,  especially  as  information  had 
been  obtained  from  intermediaries  respecting  the  Cap¬ 
tain’s  actual  influence  with  our  party.  At  the  same 
time  certain  persons  had  approached  individual  members 
of  our  party  with  inquiries  as  to  the  attitude  of  Social 
Democracy  in  a  war  between  Germany  and  France. 

We  had  left  them  in  no  doubt  that  if  France  should  begin 

the  war  she  would  find  German  Social  Democracy  against 
herein  spite  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws  and  our  attitude 

toward  the  question  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine.  Whether 
Ehrenberg  had  learned  of  this  I  do  not  know ;  if  so,  the  1^p  c "I 
storm  of  abuse  which  descended  upon  the  above-men¬ 
tioned  article,  and  its  writer  in  particular,  would  have 
been  amply  justified. 

Nothing  came  of  the  French  negotiations  ;  on  the 
other  hand,  the  Swiss  authorities,  who  had  somehow 
got  wind  of  the  affair,  began  to  keep  their  eye  upon  the 
man  who,  in  their  opinion,  threatened  to  compromise 
the  neutrality  of  Switzerland  by  his  activities.  Ehren¬ 
berg  was  placed  under  surveillance  as  being  suspect  of 
political  espionage,  and — observe  this — among  his  papers, 
which  were  seized,  was  found,  among  other  things,  the 
draft  of  a  report  to  the  German  Embassy  in  Bern,  where¬ 
in  information  was  given  concerning  the  active  members 
of  the  staff  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  and  their  habits,  and 
the  writer  offered,  some  Sunday  afternoon,  when 
Motteler  and  his  wife  were  taking  their  usual  stroll 
in  the  country  round  about  Zurich,  to  break  into 
their  house  and  steal  all  important  letters  and  lists  of 
addresses.  The  idealist  and  hater  of  tyrants  was 
prudently  arranging  a  political  reinsurance. 

At  his  judicial  examination  he  revealed  himself  as 
skilled  in  every  sort  of  evasion,  but  his  speech  repeatedly 
became  so  obscene  that  the  examining  police  captain, 

Fischer,  had  to  warn  him  that  he  must  show  respect,  if 


122 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


not  for  him,  at  least  for  the  recorder.  One  day,  when  he 
was  permitted  to  visit  his  home,  in  company  with  the 
police,  for  the  purpose  of  making  some  change  of  clothing, 
he  took  the  opportunity  to  escape,  fled  to  Germany,  and 
there  wrote  a  venomous  book  relating  to  Democracy 
in  Switzerland  ;  but  he  was  arrested  in  Germany  also, 
again  contrived  to  escape,  and  finally  turned  up  in  the 
Transvaal,  where  he  appears  to  have  played  an  ambiguous 
part  in  the  Boer  War. 

Had  not  the  man  been  so  full  of  petty  malice  he 
might  well,  with  his  many  adventures,  have  figured  as 
the  hero  of  a  romance  of  espionage.  But  he  was  lack¬ 
ing  in  all  those  reconciling  qualities  of  humanity  with¬ 
out  which  we  cannot  long  interest  ourselves  in  any  one. 
Apart  from  his  thirst  for  vengeance,  which  had  its  roots 
in  personal  grievances,  Ehrenberg  knew  nothing  of 
emotion ;  he  was  all  calculation,  in  even  the  most 
trivial  of  matters.  Whether  he  was  at  any  time  a 
detective  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  is  doubtful. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  a  most  unscrupulous 
species  of  traitor. 

But  one  cannot  by  any  means  say  this  of  all  the 
people  who  were  entered  on  our  black  list  as  detectives. 
There  were  persons  among  them  of  whom  one  had 
reason  to  believe  that  they  had  never  consciously 
delivered  a  Socialist  to  the  knife,  and  others  who  took 
a  real  intellectual  delight  in  the  vocation  which  had 
absorbed  them.  The  chapter  relating  to  detectives 
and  the  unmasking  of  detectives  forms  one  of  the  most 
tragic  portions  of  the  history  of  the  Zurich  Sozial- 
demokrat.  It  was  inevitable,  in  view  of  the  increasing 
intensity  of  the  conflict  with  the  tools  of  the  police, 
that  occasional  mistakes  as  to  identity  should  be  made, 
and  that  people  should  be  proscribed  who  had  been  im¬ 
prudent,  but  had  not  been  guilty  of  any  intentional 
information.  A  warning  in  the  Staatsanzeiger,  as  the 


LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  ZURICH 


123 


Sozialdemokrat  was  called  by  our  comrades  in  the  German 
Empire,  meant,  under  the  circumstances,  proscription, 
and  the  heart-broken  protests  of  people  who  solemnly 
declared  that  they  were  unjustly  suspected  caused  me 
many  a  sleepless  night.  This  reverse  side  of  our 
struggle  is  too  readily  forgotten  by  those  to  whom  the 
period  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws  appears  to-day  in  the 
romantic  light  of  distance  and  the  past. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SECRET  CONGRESSES  AND  BANISHMENT 
FROM  SWITZERLAND 

URING  my  residence  in  Zurich  the  three  Con¬ 
gresses  took  place  which  German  Social  Democ¬ 
racy,  under  the  ban  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws, 
held  in  a  foreign  country.  To  them,  and  to  my  banish¬ 
ment  from  Switzerland  after  the  last  of  these  Congresses, 
I  feel  that  I  ought  to  devote  a  chapter  of  these  re¬ 
collections.  But  first  I  must  make  a  few  remarks 
concerning  the  personality  of  the  remarkable  man 
whose  colleague  I  became  upon  taking  over  the  editor¬ 
ship  of  the  Sozialdemokrat ,  and  whose  name  has  lately 
been  recalled  to  the  memory  of  the  general  public  by 
his  son.  I  refer  to  the  father  of  my  parliamentary 
colleague  and  fellow-Socialist,  Karl  Liebknecht  :  to 
Wilhelm  Liebknecht,  who  performed  such  notable 
services  in  connection  with  the  foundation  and  develop¬ 
ment  of  Social  Democracy. 

Liebknecht  was,  as  has  already  been  mentioned, 
the  German  editor  of  the  Sozialdemokrat.  When  I  be- 
came  the  Zurich  editor,  he  was  serving  a  sentence  of 
many  months’  imprisonment.  Soon  after  his  discharge, 
however,  he  came  to  spend  four  or  five  weeks  in  Zurich, 
in  order  to  discuss  editorial  matters  with  me,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  his  im¬ 
prisonment.  Recover  is,  perhaps,  not  the  right  word  ; 
for  there  was  no  sign  of  physical  weakness  to  be  observed 
in  this  thoroughly  healthy  man.  But  he  wanted  to 

124 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


125 


breathe  the  free  air  for  a  time,  and  he  had  certainly 
fully  earned  the  holiday  which  he  was  taking  to  this 
end. 

In  these  four  weeks,  and  during  the  further  visits 
which  Liebknecht  paid  us  afterwards,  as  well  as  by  our 
exchange  of  letters,  I  had  abundant  opportunity  to 
become  more  closely  acquainted  with  him.  Above  all, 
I  learned  to  marvel  at  his  powers  of  work.  His  intel¬ 
lectual  elasticity  was  amazing.  I  do  not  think  that  he 
had  read  very  much,  or  very  intensively,  and  in  theory 
he  was  in  those  days  no  longer  my  teacher,  for  I  had 
made  a  profound  study  of  the  Marxist  doctrine,  of 
which  he  could  not  be  reckoned  an  exponent.  By 
intellectual  tendency  Liebknecht  was  rather  a  Socialist  of 
the  French  school,  and  he  reminded  one  of  the  French 
by  his  style  also,  which  was  rich  in  brilliant,  concise,  and 
striking  phrases  and  pointed  antitheses.  He  was  a 
much  greater  master  of  form  than  his  colleague,  August 
Bebel,  whose  strength  lay  in  the  matter  of  his  speeches, 
and  was  quite  peculiarly  at  home  in  the  history  of  the 
French  Revolution,  as  regards  the  treatment  of  which 
he  was  influenced  by  Michelet.  I  happened  to  ask  him, 
during  this  visit,  whether  he  could  not  write  me,  for  the 
anniversary  of  the  ioth  of  August,  an  article  on  the  storm¬ 
ing  of  the  Tuileries  (1792).  “  Certainly,”  he  replied  ; 

“  you  shall  have  it.”  So  saying,  he  went  to  his  room, 
and  brought  me,  an  hour  later,  without  having  referred 
to  any  books,  a  strikingly  powerful  article  which  filled 
the  whole  of  the  front  page  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  for 
nth  of  August  1881.  He  could  write  articles  or 
polemical  reviews  under  the  most  difficult  circum¬ 
stances  :  in  a  railway  carriage,  in  a  room  full  of  loudly 
talking  people,  and  once  I  even  saw  him  working  at  an 
article  while  he  was  acting  as  chairman  of  a  by  no 
means  peaceable  meeting.  As  a  speaker,  too,  he  was 
by  no  means  dependent  upon  preparation.  The  best 


126 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 

/ 

speech  I  ever  heard  him  deliver  was  wholly  an  im¬ 
provisation. 

From  Wilhelm  Liebknecht  his  son  inherited  this 
readiness  of  intellectual  orientation.  And  not  this 
alone  ;  in  his  whole  political  attitude  Karl  Liebknecht 
was  the  true  son  of  his  father.  This  is  plainly  apparent  if 
we  compare  the  younger  Liebknecht,  not  with  the  party 
veteran,  working  on  established  party  lines,  but  with 
Wilhelm  at  his  own  age,  working  under  similar  conditions. 
Karl  Marx  once  spoke  in  a  letter  to  Friedrich  Engels 
of  “  our  Liebknecht’s  ”  unbounded  optimism.  The  ex¬ 
pression  was  justified,  but  it  does  not  completely  describe 
the  intellectual  trait  to  which  it  refers.  With  this 
optimism  was  intimately  connected,  perhaps  as  one  of 
its  prime  ingredients,  a  curious  unconcern  as  to  what 
might  befall  him  personally,  and  an  indifference  to  formal 
rules.  Wilhelm  Liebknecht  not  infrequently  followed 
spontaneous  inspirations,  without  protracted  considera¬ 
tion  ;  he  announced  to  his  age  what  to  him  was  the 
truth,  regardless  of  consequences,  thereby  evoking 
stormy  scenes  in  Parliament ;  and  his  arbitrary  behaviour 
often  brought  him  into  conflict  with  his  political  friends. 
This  tendency  towards  self-will  was  not  to  be  attri¬ 
buted  to  a  calculated  aiming  at  effect ;  it  was  the  com¬ 
plimentary  quality  of  the  spirit  which  enabled  Wilhelm 
Liebknecht,  in  situations  where  all  about  him  were  given 
up  to  the  intoxication  of  success,  or  about  to  surrender  to 
it,  to  oppose  this  intoxication  in  the  interest  of  humanity. 
Those  who  wish  to  understand  Karl  Liebknecht  rightly 
must  study  the  character  and  the  actions  of  his  father. 
(Written  in  1917  when  Liebknecht  was  arrested.) 

As  a  private  individual,  Wilhelm  Liebknecht,  as  far 
as  his  own  person  was  concerned,  was  thoroughly  un¬ 
assuming,  without  for  that  reason  being  an  ascetic.  He 
could  carry  a  good  cargo  of  drink,  but  was  as  a  rule 
perfectly  temperate.  At  a  banquet,  or  when  dining 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


127 


with  friends,  he  was  a  hearty  eater,  but  was  none  the 
less  easily  content  with  very  modest  fare.  He  once  told 
me,  when  he  had  just  been  released  from  prison,  that  he 
found  his  prison  diet  extremely  good,  and  it  repeatedly 
happened,  when  he  took  a  glass  of  beer  with  us,  that  he 
would  praise  a  good  brew  as  pompos — splendid.  It  was 
a  passion  with  him  to  wander  through  the  open  country, 
and,  since  he  found  a  companion  of  like  tastes  in  myself, 
we  had  many  a  walk  together  on  the  Zurichberg  and  the 
other  heights  about  the  city.  I,  on  my  side,  urged  him 
in  those  days  to  take  up  again  the  noble  art  of  swimming, 
which  he  told  me  he  had  not  practised  for  quite  twenty 
years.  He  promptly  bustled  into  the  lake  like  a  fish 
returning  to  the  water,  and  one  day  he,  Julius  Motteler, 
and  to  some  extent  I  myself,  brought  to  shore,  by  our 
united  efforts,  a  man  on  the  point  of  drowning,  who  had 
already  lost  consciousness. 

So  much  for  the  soldier  of  the  Revolution,  as  Wilhelm 
Liebknecht  had  styled  himself  when  in  1872  he  was 
brought  to  trial  in  Leipzig  for  high  treason,  for  which 
reason  he  was  given  the  nickname  of  "  the  Soldier  ” — 
first,  I  think,  by  me.  And  now  for  the  Congresses. 

More  than  for  any  other  political  party,  assemblies 
of  delegates,  or  congresses,  are  for  a  democratic  party  a 
necessity  of  life  ;  for  only  at  such  or  by  such  congresses 
can  the  problems  of  the  inner  life  of  the  party,  its  direc¬ 
tion,  and  its  policy  be  determined  in  a  peaceable  manner. 
Since  the  anti-Socialist  laws  then  made  it  impossible 
for  Social  Democracy  to  hold  such  Congresses  within  the 
Empire,  it  was  necessary,  as  long  as  these  laws  were  in 
force,  to  hold  them  abroad.  And  even  so  all  sorts  of 
prudential  rules  had  to  be  observed.  The  visitors  to  the 
Congress  had  to  be  insured  against  political  consequences, 
and  the  Congress  itself  against  undesired  participators. 
While  the  convening  of  a  democratic  representative  body 
makes  it  necessary  to  warn  the  members  far  and  wide  of 


128 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  fact  of  the  Congress,  the  most  absolute  secrecy  must 
be  observed  as  to  the  place  and  the  precise  date  of  the 
assembly,  and  all  sorts  of  other  details.  In  the  face  of 
the  close  attention  which  the  police  vouchsafed  to  all 
the  proceedings  of  Social  Democracy,  it  was  no  easy 
problem  to  satisfy  both  these  requirements.  But  it 
always  was  solved  in  so  far  that  in  spite  of  their  wide¬ 
spread  vigilance  the  police  always  obtained  particulars 
of  the  Congress  only  after  it  had  met. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  surprise  was  provided  for  the 
police — and  not  for  them  only — by  the  first  of  these 
secret  Congresses.  It  was  held  on  Swiss  territory,  from 
the  20th  to  23rd  of  August  1880,  and  everything  possible 
was  done  to  give  it  a  romantic  character.  Since  the 
leaders  of  the  party,  who  were  known  to  everybody, 
had  to  put  in  an  appearance,  it  was  decided  that  they 
could  not  be  allowed  to  assemble  in  any  of  the  larger 
Swiss  cities.  The  simultaneous  appearance  of  Bebel, 
Liebknecht,  Hasenclever,  Auer,  Grillenberger,  Fritsche, 
Vahlteich,  and  others  would  have  made  the  discovery  of 
the  Congress  much  too  easy  for  the  loitering  and  expect¬ 
ant  detectives.  A  half-ruined  country-seat,  which  was 
offered  for  sale,  some  distance  from  the  great  inter¬ 
national  traffic  routes,  and  not  far  from  the  market -town 
of  Ossingen  in  Canton  Zurich — Schloss  Wyden — was 
judged  a  fit  place  to  harbour  the  representatives  of  the 
party  for  a  few  days.  For  this  purpose  it  was  rented 
from  the  owner  for  a  week,  while  he  was  informed  that 
the  sick  benefit  clubs  and  burial  clubs  of  the  German 
Labour  associations  in  Switzerland  were  about  to  hold 
their  general  meeting  there,  a  statement  in  which  the 
good  man  saw  nothing  suspicious.  The  spacious  ban- 
queting-hall  of  the  “  castle  ” — once  known  as  the 
Knight’s  Hall — was  arranged  as  an  assembly-room,  the 
kitchen  was  sufficiently  equipped,  so  that  the  wife  of  a 
comrade  from  St.  Gallen,  together  with  a  cook  whom 


SECRET  CONGRESSES  129 

she  had  enlisted,  could  provide  for  the  feeding  of  the 
delegates,  and  since  there  was  no  room  in  the  castle 
that  was  servicable,  one  of  the  small  outbuildings, 
which  otherwise  might  have  been  used  as  a  stable  or  a 
granary,  was  adapted,  by  means  of  a  quantity  of  straw, 
to  serve  as  a  dormitory  for  the  participators  in  the 
Congress.  For  Ossingen  could  not  afford  sufficient 
apartments  to  lodge  the  delegates,  nor  was  it  thought 
advisable  that  any  considerable  number  of  delegates 
should  stay  there,  since  this  might  easily  have  given  the 
peasants  and  farmers  occasion  to  inquire  somewhat  more 
precisely  into  the  proceedings  at  the  castle.  It  was 
essential  that  they  should  see  as  little  of  the  Congress  as 
possible.  However,  the  delegates  appointed  in  Zurich, 
or  by  the  party  leaders  in  Germany,  were  not  sent 
direct  to  Ossingen  ;  they  merely  received  instructions 
to  repair  to  a  certain  tavern  in  Winterthur,  near  the 
railway  station,  on  the  appointed  day.  There  their 
mandates  would  receive  a  preliminary  examination,  and 
they  would  then  be  informed  of  their  actual  destination. 
Thus,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  20th  August  1880,  they 
reached  Schloss  Wyden  unobserved,  and  were  able  to 
devote  two  days  to  their  deliberations  without  the 
interference  of  any  outside  persons.  Reliable  comrades 
acted  as  outposts,  so  that  the  Congress  should  run  no 
risk  of  being  surprised.  Only  on  the  last  day  of  the 
session  the  Statthalter  of  the  Andelfing  district,  in  which 
Ossingen  was  situated,  announced  himself,  and  asked 
for  an  explanation  of  what  we  were  doing  in  the  Schloss. 
Since  the  object  of  the  Congress  was  already  essentially 
accomplished,  the  Statthalter,  who  was  a  member  of 
the  Democratic  Party  of  Zurich,  was  told  the  whole  truth 
of  the  matter,  and  given  permission  to  attend  the  session, 
which  offer,  however,  he  declined.  All  that  the  peasantry 
of  Ossingen  wanted  to  know,  when  the  Congress  was 
over,  and  a  large  number  of  delegates  appeared  in  the 

9 


130 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


taverns  of  the  town,  was  “  whether  the  gentlemen  were 
going  to  have  a  procession  as  well.”  A  Congress  without 
a  procession  was  evidently,  to  them,  an  execution 
without  a  criminal. 

The  general  public  was  first  informed  of  the  holding 
of  the  Congress  by  a  notice  in  the  newspapers  which 
the  party  representatives  had  themselves  given  to  the 
Press,  and  which  was  correspondingly  embellished. 
Meanwhile  the  reality  had  been  much  more  impressive 
than  the  highly  coloured  notice  would  have  given  one 
to  suppose.  Certainly  the  conditions  under  which  the 
Congress  was  held  were  romantic  enough,  even  though 
the  account  which  the  newspapers  provided  for  the 
Philistines  was  a  trifle  overdrawn  : 

“Not  one  of  the  secret  inmates  of  the  Castle  was 
seen  outside  its  doors,  excepting  only  the  watchmen, 
who  barred  the  road  to  the  Castle,  and,  being  warned 
by  a  sentry  on  the  tower,  allowed  no  one  to  approach.” 

The  sentry  on  the  tower  was,  of  course,  a  creation 
of  the  imagination,  and  the  outposts  could  not  have 
forbidden  any  one  to  pass  ;  while  the  delegates  did  not 
refrain  from  leaving  the  Schloss  in  the  intervals  between 
proceedings,  lying  about  on  the  neighbouring  hillsides, 
from  which  one  obtained  an  enchanting  view  of  the 
surrounding  landscape,  or  going  for  walks  through  the 
fields  and  meadows.  However,  what  made  the  Congress 
unforgettable  to  those  who  took  part  in  it  was  the 
spirit  which  inspired  its  transactions  and  the  whole 
assembly. 

This  was  the  first  great  meeting  of  the  party  for 
three  years.  The  terrible  months  of  the  summer  of  1878, 
when  the  attempt  on  the  Emperor’s  life  was  made, 
with  their  heavy  sentences  upon  Socialists,  the  incubus 
of  the  anti-Socialist  laws,  the  dissolution  of  the  Social 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


131 

Democratic  organisations,  and  the  suppression  of  their 
Press  had  for  the  time  being  sapped  the  external  strength 
of  the  party,  and  had  caused  great  confusion  in  its 
ranks.  But  now  it  was  clearly  demonstrated  that  the 
nucleus  of  the  party  was  unharmed,  and  among  the 
faithful  the  sense  of  solidarity  had  been  merely  reinforced. 
Only  three  of  the  fifty-six  delegates  to  the  Wyden 
Congress  showed  a  certain  inclination  toward  the  two 
former  party  leaders,  Most  and  Hasselmann,  who  as 
Social  Revolutionists  had  thrown  down  a  challenge  to 
the  party  from  abroad  ;  but  even  they  did  not  care  to 
go  so  far  as  to  approve  of  a  breach  with  the  party. 
There  were  lively  debates  at  Wyden,  and  various 
measures  were  sharply  criticised  by  the  party  repre¬ 
sentatives.  However,  the  general  tone  of  the  proceed¬ 
ings  was  free  from  any  animosity  or  even  irritability. 
The  preponderating  spirit  was  one  of  delight,  which  was 
continually  finding  some  fresh  expression,  that  despite 
the  lapse  of  time  such  a  large  number  of  delegates  had 
assembled,  and  were  able  to  speak  in  absolute  mutual 
confidence  of  all  that  had  been  oppressing  their  minds. 
Persecution  had  only  increased  the  solidarity  of  the 
persecuted,  and  the  certainty  that  the  struggle  would 
now  be  carried  on  with  unshaken  resolution  put  us  all 
in  the  best  of  tempers.  This  meant  that  we  were  able 
to  see  the  humorous  side  of  all  the  inconveniences  which 
we  had  had  to  suffer,  and  any  one  who  in  speaking 
employed  too  bold  an  image,  or  entangled  himself  in  a 
false  construction,  might  be  sure  that  his  performance 
would  be  perpetuated  in  an  improvised  contribution 
to  a  satirical  Kongresszeitung  (Congress  Times),  among 
whose  illustrators  were  Karl  Kautsky  and  the  late 
Karl  Grillenberger.  The  intemperate  attacks  which 
Johann  Most  was  fond  of  delivering  upon  his  erstwhile 
comrades  in  arms  in  the  London  Freiheit  were  here 
subjected  to  an  ironical  criticism,  verbal  and  artistic. 


132 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Whether  it  was  strictly  necessary  to  declare  Most  and 
Hasselmann,  after  the  close  of  the  Congress,  as  excluded 
from  the  party,  after  they  had  already  in  fact  left  it, 
might  be  disputed  ;  such  resolutions  always  leave  an 
unpleasant  after-taste  when  political  differences  are  in 
question.  But  Johann  Most  richly  deserved  the  satirical 
verses  published  in  the  Congress  Times ,  for  from  London 
he  preached  a  revolutionism  which  he  must  have  known 
was  impracticable  in  Germany  as  it  was  in  those  days. 


The  spirit  which  prevailed  at  the  Congress  ensured  the 
unanimous  acceptation  of  the  motion  to  strike  out  the 
word  "  lawful  ”  from  the  clause  in  the  party  programme 
— the  so-called  Gothaer  programme — which  stated  that 
the  party  would  enforce  its  demands  and  aims  “  by  all 
lawful  means.”  Naturally,  after  the  party  had  been 
outlawed  it  could  not  confine  itself  to  lawful  means  in  its 
propagandist  and  political  activities.  But  the  deletion 
of  the  word  “  lawful  ”  changed  the  phrase  into  “  by  all 
means  ”  and  that  allowed  of  a  much  wider  interpretation. 
That  the  party  did  not  shrink  from  this  interpretation 
was  the  defiant  rejoinder  to  the  policy  of  force  to  which 
it  had  been  subjected.  The  reader  will  therefore  be 
able  to  judge  of  the  satisfaction  with  which  the  following 
poem  in  the  aforesaid  Kongresszeitung  was  received  : 


Mix  ALLEN  Mitteln 


Es  steht  ein  Schloss  im  Schweizerland, 

Da  wird  an  den  Staaten  geriittelt, 

Da  wird  der  Umsturz  zu  Recht  erkannt. 

Da  wird  nicht  gesetzlich  *'  gemittelt/' 

Der  helle  Kommunismus  bliiht, 

Man  isst  und  trinkt  gemeinsam, 

Des  Nachts  das  Volk  zum  Schlafhaus  zieht, 
Um  nicht  zu-ruhen  einsam. 


Der  tolle  Haus,  der  Fehde  blies, 
Hier  wird  er  abgeschlachtet, 

Und  in  der  Verachtung  Burgverlies 
Da  wird  er  eingeschachtet. 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


133 


Die  rote  Republik,  sie  wacht 
An  unseres  Schlosses  Pforte. 

Wer  hatt’  in  London  das  gedacht 
Von  der — Bedientenhorde  !  1 

Of  the  flowers  of  speech  singled  out  for  attention,  one 
made  a  particular  impression  upon  me,  and  may  be  here 
recorded.  It  fell  from  the  lips  of  a  youthful  and  fiery 
delegate  from  Swabia,  who  exclaimed  :  “  Comrades,  we 
must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  carried  away  by  patience !  ” 

Those  delegates  who  had  come  from  Germany 
returned  thither  by  various  routes  after  the  close  of  the 
Congress,  and  not  one  of  them  was  arrested  at  the 
frontier.  On  the  other  hand,  several  of  them  carried 
back  forbidden  literature  to  the  Fatherland.  It  was 
bound  round  their  bodies,  like  so  much  armour-plating, 
by  Motteler,  who  was  very  adroit  in  these  matters. 

With  the  second  secret  Congress  of  the  Social  Demo- 
cratic  Party  things  did  not  go  so  smoothly.  It  was  held 
in  Copenhagen,  in  1883.  It  was  not  discovered  by  the 
German  police,  greatly  though  they  had  in  the  meantime 

1  The  verses  may  roughly  be  translated  thus  : 

By  all  Means 

In  Switzerland  a  Castle  stands  ; 

There  justice  has  an  awful 

Disaster  known,  that  shakes  all  lands 
By  means  that  are  not  lawful. 

There  Communism  brightly  burns  ; 

All  make  one  family  only  ; 

They  doss  together  when  returns 
The  night,  for  none  sleeps  lonely. 

A  madhouse  this  !  The  challenge  shrills  ; 

Now  ail  in  blood  will  welter  ! 

Yet  fearing  not  the  dungeon’s  chills 
They  enter  helter-skelter  ! 

And  lo,  the  red  Republic  !  Such 
The  warder  of  our  portals  ! 

In  London  who’d  have  thought  as  much 
Of  such  poor  slavish  mortals  ! 


134 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


increased  their  secret  service  of  spies  for  the  benefit  of 
our  party.  We  had  already  been  occupied  in  the  work 
of  the  Congress  for  several  days,  in  the  fine  assembly- 
hall  of  the  Clubhouse  of  the  Danish  Social  Democratic 
Party,  when -the  agents  of  the  political  police  of  Herr 
von  Puttkamer,  who  had  been  the  Minister  specially 
entrusted  with  the  execution  of  the  anti-Socialist  laws, 
were  still  trying  to  get  on  the  track  of  our  meeting-place 
on  the  Swiss  frontier,  and  in  various  parts  of  Switzer¬ 
land,  the  Sozialdemokrat  having  announced  that  a 
Congress  had  been  convened.  But  on  this  occasion  the 
proceedings  lasted  nearly  a  week,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  keep  so  long  the  secret  of  a  Congress  held  in  the  capital 
of  Denmark  in  which  so  many  well-known  persons  were 
taking  part.  On  the  morning  after  the  fourth  day  of  the 
Congress  most  of  us  were  visited  in  our  quarters  by  the 
Danish  police,  who  had  got  wind  of  the  meeting. 
Thereby  a  quite  undeserved  honour  was  paid  me,  and 
I  should  like  now  to  relieve  my  conscience  by  record¬ 
ing  it. 

In  order  to  avoid  making  an  altogether  overlong 
circuit  from  Zurich  to  Copenhagen,  I  had  been  obliged 
to  cross  Germany  from  south  to  north.  Since  I  had 
by  that  time  become  editor  of  the  Sozialdemokrat ,  my 
arrest  on  German  soil  would  have  entailed  the  greatest 
inconvenience,  not  only  to  myself,  but  also  to  the  party  ; 
so  that,  among  other  precautions,  I  provided  myself 
with  a  false  passport.  In  Copenhagen  I  was  staying 
with  Auer,  Grillenberger,  and  four  other  comrades  in  a 
modest  hotel  in  the  Vesterbro  Gade,  whose  proprietor 
was  a  Social  Democrat.  The  seven  of  us  were  sleeping 
in  two  communicating  rooms,  four  in  the  first,  and 
three — myself  among  them — in  the  second  room.  On 
the  morning  of  the  fateful  day  I  was  awakened  from 
sleep  by  a  knocking  on  the  outer  door,  and  presently 
I  heard  the  following  conversation  : 


SECRET  CONGRESSES  135 

Police  Commissary  {by  the  first  bed) :  “  What  is  your 
name  ?  ” 

Auer  :  “  Ignaz  Auer.” 

The  Police  Commissary  :  “  Have  you  entered  your 
name  on  this  list  ?  ” 

Auer  :  “  Yes.” 

The  Police  Commissary  :  “  But  there's  no  Auer 
here.  What  name  did  you  enter  ?  ” 

Auer  :  “  Johannes  Sorensen.” 

Police  Commissary  :  “  Why  did  you  write  a  false 
name  ?  ” 

Auer  :  “So  that  no  one  should  know  that  I  was  here.” 

Police  Commissary  :  “You  are  holding  a  Congress 
here  ?  ” 

Auer  :  “  I  am  here  with  some  friends.” 

Police  Commissary  :  “  Yes  ;  but  you  are  holding  a 
Congress.” 

Auer  :  “  Call  it  what  you  like.” 

(The  Police  Commissary  enters  various  things  in  his 
book,  and  moves  on  to  the  second  bed,  in  which  Karl 
Grillenberger  lies,  putting  the  same  questions.) 

The  Police  Commissary  {at  the  second  bed) :  “  What 
is  your  name  ?  ” 

Grillenberger  :  “  Karl  Grillenberger.” 

Police  Commissary  :  “  Under  what  name  are  you 
entered  on  this  list  ?  ” 

Grillenberger  :  “  Olaf  Petersen.” 

And  so  on.  All  of  us  who  had  come  from  Germany 
had  entered  Danish  names  on  the  hotel’s  list  of  guests. 
So  at  six  of  the  beds  the  same  conversation  was  held. 
Finally  the  Commissary  came  to  my  bed,  when  the 
conversation  was  not  the  same. 

Commissary  :  “  What  is  your  name  ?  ” 

I  :  “  Conrad  Conzett.” 

Commissary  :  “  Under  what  name  are  you  entered 
here  ?  ” 


136 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


I :  “  Under  my  own  name.” 

Commissary  ( surprised )  :  “  Under  your  own  name  ?  ” 
I  (very  dignified ) :  “  Certainly,  under  my  own  name.” 
Commissary  ( looks  at  the  list ,  and  finds  the  name — still 
suspiciously)  :  “  Have  you  papers  of  legitimisation  ?  ” 

I  (still  more  dignified)  :  "  Why,  yes,  here  they  are.” 
The  Commissary  examines  the  passport  made  out  in 
the  name  of  my  Swiss  party  comrade  Conzett,  reads  the 
personal  description,  finds  that  it  corresponds  with  my 
personal  appearance  (and  with  whose  personal  appearance 
would  a  passport  description  fail  to  agree  ?),  and  makes 
his  departure,  bowing  profoundly,  and  apparently 
telling  himself,  “  At  least  one  respectable  man  among 
the  lot  !  ”  And  this  is  just  where  I  took  him  in. 

Fortunately,  I  had  illustrious  predecessors  in  the 
matter  of  using  false  passports.  When,  in  the  reactionary 
period  of  1848-49  the  Prussian  Minister,  Manteuffel,  was 
one  day  travelling  from  Hamburg  to  London,  he  en¬ 
countered  on  deck  Lothar  Bucher,  who  refused  to  pay 
taxes,  and  was  then  living  in  exile.  It  was  impossible 
to  avoid  a  brief  conversation.  “  How  do  you  come 
here  ?  ”  asked  the  omnipotent  Prussian  of  the  fugitive 
political  offender.  “  Eve  been  spending  a  few  days  at 
home,”  was  the  reply.  “  What,  in  Prussia  ?  ”  “  Cer¬ 

tainly,  in  Prussia,”  rejoined  Bucher.  “  But  how  did 
you  get  into  Prussia,  since  you  had  no  passport  ?  ”  “I 
have  no  passport  ?  Of  course  I  have  a  passport.  You 
yourself  saw  to  it  that  I  received  one.”  “  How  so  ?  ” 
“  I  will  tell  you.  Thanks  to  your  wise  instructions  as 
regards  passports,  I  can  buy  any  Prussian  passport  in 
London  for  five  shillings,  whenever  I  need  it.”  And  in 
fact,  during  the  whole  period  when  every  one  leaving  or 
entering  Prussia  had  to  obtain  a  passport,  there  was  in 
London  a  brisk  sale  for  these  documents.  The  regula¬ 
tions  were  a  burden  to  the  inoffensive  public,  but  they 
could  hardly  have  prevented  a  single  political  or  common 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


137 


criminal  from  crossing  the  frontier.  The  secret  of 
drawing  up  descriptions  that  could  only  refer  to  one 
particular  individual  had  not  then  been  discovered. 
Conrad  Conzett  was  taller  and  broader  than  I,  and  had 
quite  different  features,  yet  to  the  Danish  Commissary 
his  personal  description  appeared  to  fit  me. 

The  Danish  police  authorities  behaved  fairly  well, 
however,  in  respect  of  our  Congress.  They  only  de¬ 
manded  a  guarantee  that  we  would  abstain  from  any 
agitation  in  Denmark,  and  in  other  respects  left  us 
unmolested  to  the  end.  Meanwhile,  the  news  of  the 
Congress  reached  Berlin,  and  Police  Councillor  Kruger 
himself,  in  whose  hands  were  collected  the  threads  of 
the  whole  of  the  German  detective  service,  came  rushing 
post-haste  to  Copenhagen,  but  all  in  vain.  When  he 
arrived,  the  birds  were  already  flown.  The  only  result 
was  that  six  of  the  returning  delegates,  among  them  the 
Reichstag  members,  Georg  von  Vollmar,  Louis  Viereck, 
Karl  Ulrich,  and  Karl  Frohme,  were  arrested  in  Kiel, 
and  Ignaz  Auer,  August  Bebel,  and  Heinrich  Dietz  on 
the  following  day  in  Neumiinster,  and  were  examined 
by  the  police,  so  that  later  on,  when  after  prolonged 
research  a  competent  tribunal  was  discovered,  they 
might  be  tried  on  a  charge  of  forming  a  secret  society, 
when  six  of  them  were  sentenced  to  nine  and  three  to 
six  months’  imprisonment. 

I  was  more  fortunate.  With  Auer,  Bebel,  Dietz, 
and  Richard  Fischer  I  had  repaired,  two  days  after  the 
close  of  the  Congress,  to  Korsor,.  on  the  west  coast  of  the 
island  of  Zeeland,  where  we  intended  to  draft  the  report 
of  the  proceedings  in  a  form  suitable  for  publication. 
We  put  up  at  a  passably  decent  hotel,  and  had  just  taken 
our  places  at  a  large  table,  when  a  waiter  entered  with 
a  telegram  in  his  hand,  and  asked  whether  it  was  directed 
to  any  of  our  party.  It  was  addressed  in  a  somewhat 
laconic  fashion  to  “  Eduard  Bernstein,  Korsor.”  I  had 


138 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


entered  myself  on  the  Visitors’  List  as  Conzett ;  but  with¬ 
out  reflecting  I  explained  that  the  telegram  was  in¬ 
tended  for  me,  took  it,  and  opened  it.  It  had  fallen 
into  the  right  hands.  It  came  from  Kiel,  and  contained 
only  three  words,  which  were  eloquent  enough  :  “  V  or - 
sicht,nichts  mitnehmen  ”  (Careful, bring  nothing  with  you). 
Of  course  we  knew  what  that  meant.  Something  had 
happened  in  Kiel  which  showed  that  the  frontier  was 
not  clear.  By  no  means,  therefore,  must  any  of  us  cross 
the  frontier  with  the  report  or  any  other  writings  refer¬ 
ring  to  the  Congress  in  his  pocket.  But  Bebel  further 
declared,  and  the  rest  of  us  agreed  without  demur,  that 
I  must  not,  on  any  account,  travel  through  Germany, 
but  must  return  to  Switzerland  by  way  of  England  and 
France.  I  did  not  raise  any  objection  to  this,  since  the 
voyage  to  London  would  make  it  possible  for  me  to  look 
up  Friedrich  Engels,  with  whom  I  was  at  that  time 
carrying  on  a  fairly  animated  correspondence.  But  my 
arrangements  had  to  be  altered. 

That  same  evening  I  returned  to  Copenhagen,  and 
there  saw  the  announcement,  in  an  evening  newspaper, 
that  the  deputies  to  the  Reichstag,  Vollmar  and  Frohme, 
with  several  other  Social  Democrats,  had  been  arrested 
at  Kiel  on  their  way  home  from  a  Socialistic  Congress. 
Next  morning,  accordingly,  I  immediately  looked  up  my 
Danish  comrades  and  inquired  of  them  the  quickest 
route  to  England,  and  on  the  advice  of  one  of  them  I 
travelled  two  days  later  right  across  Denmark  in  a  slant¬ 
ing  direction,  to  the  west  coast  of  Jutland,  in  order  to 
take  the  boat  to  Harwich  from  the  newly  opened  port 
of  Esbjerg.  But  my  adviser  had  made  a  mistake  as  to 
the  time-table.  I  found  no  vessel  at  Esbjerg  that  took 
passengers  for  England,  and  I  should  have  had  to  wait 
five  days  before  I  could  travel  by  the  prescribed  route. 
I  was  the  less  inclined  to  decide  upon  this  course  in  that 
there  was  no  one  in  the  hotel  at  which  I  had  put  up  who 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


139 


could  speak  any  language  that  I  could  understand. 
So  the  next  day  I  crossed  Jutland  once  more,  stopping 
for  twelve  hours  at  Fredericia  on  the  Little  Belt,  and  then 
returned  home  across  Germany  after  all ;  since,  in  the 
meantime,  as  I  rightly  guessed  at  the  last  moment,  the 
frontier  would  again  have  become  practicable  as  far  as 
I  was  concerned.  No  policeman,  but  only  friend  August 
Bebel  surprised  me  on  this  homeward  journey.  At 
Hamburg,  as  I  was  waiting  for  the  train,  he  clapped  me 
on  the  shoulder  with  the  words  :  “  In  the  name  of  the 
Law  !  ” 

As  regards  getting  a  glimpse  of  “  the  people  at  home,” 
my  journey  was  somewhat  unfruitful.  However,  I 
had  had  the  opportunity  of  becoming  to  some  extent 
acquainted  with  the  handsome  capital  city  of  Denmark, 
and,  as  I  have  mentioned,  I  spent  half  a  day  in  the  little 
fortified  city  of  Fredericia.  I  was  delighted  with  Copen¬ 
hagen,  but  I  really  had  not  the  mental  leisure  fully  to  do 
justice  to  its  fine  museums  and  buildings.  My  entire 
faculties  were  at  that  time  absorbed  by  the  political 
movement,  and  it  was  more  incumbent  upon  me  to 
discuss  domestic  conditions  with  various  comrades  who 
had  come  from  Germany,  whom  I  should  not  otherwise 
have  managed  to  see,  than  to  improve  my  knowledge  of 
the  works  of  art  which  Copenhagen  contains  in  such 
profusion.  On  the  day  after  the  close  of  the  Congress, 
our  Danish  friends  took  us  over  Rosenburg  Castle ;  but 
its  chambers  and  costly  contents  impressed  me  rather  as 
curiosities,  the  more  so  as  they  had  to  compensate  for  a 
projected  visit  to  the  Thorwaldsen  Museum,  for  which  I 
had  no  further  leisure.  One  day  I  was  the  guest  of  the 
man  whom  my  Danish  comrades  then  regarded  as  their 
leader,  and  pointed  out  to  me  as  "  their  Bebel.”  This 
was  the  Socialist  tailor,  P.  Holm,  a  friendly  individual 
with  an  intelligent  expression  ;  but  in  conversation  he 
displayed  little  of  Bebel’s  acuteness,  seeming  to  be  shrewd 


140 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


rather  than  eminently  talented.  Hardly  of  medium 
height,  and  inclined  to  stoutness,  he  had  little  of  the 
Scandinavian  about  him.  However,  there  was  no 
lack  of  men  of  the  genuine  Viking  build  among  the 
Danish  Socialists  with  whom  we  came  into  contact. 

•  •»««»• 

The  trial  of  the  nine  arrested  German  delegates  to 
the  Copenhagen  Congress  was  concluded  on  the  4th 
of  August  1886.  It  took  place  before  the  Assize  Court  of 
Freiberg,  and  the  accused  were  sentenced  to  the  terms  of 
imprisonment  already  noted.  Only  after  much  trouble, 
and  with  the  co-operation  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
Empire,  was  it  possible  to  devise  a  charge  upon  which  a 
verdict  could  be  based.  The  Supreme  Court  had  been 
forced  to  recognise  that  the  holding  of  a  meeting  abroad 
did  not  constitute  the  formation  of  a  criminal  secret 
society.  It  decided,  however,  that  a  criminal  charge 
might  be  based  upon  conclusive  actions  which  were  not 
entailed  in  the  mere  act  of  meeting,  and  as  such  a  con¬ 
clusive  action  it  pointed  to  the  fact  that  a  representa¬ 
tive  of  the  prohibited  Sozialdemokrat  had  presented  a 
report  to  the  Congress  dealing  with  that  journal’s  dis¬ 
tribution  and  finances.  But  as  a  judgment  was  made 
possible  in  this  fashion  the  Social  Democrats  had  un¬ 
wittingly  been  given  a  hint  as  to  how  they  could  in 
future  convene  a  Congress  abroad  without  exposing 
themselves  to  such  penal  consequences.  When  the 
judgment  was  proved  to  be  valid,  the  official  connection 
between  the  party  and  Sozialdemokrat  was  at  once 
dissolved,  and  after  the  condemned  leaders  had  served 
their  sentences  a  summons  was  published  in  the  German 
newspapers  signed  by  the  whole  Socialist  group  in  the 
Reichstag,  which  without  circumlocution  invited  the 
members  of  the  party  to  send  delegates  to  a  Congress, 
without  further  mention  of  the  precise  time  or  place  of 
assembly,  until  on  a  prearranged  date — the  15th  of 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


141 


September — these  were  punctually  communicated  to  the 
appointed  delegates. 

This  Congress,  of  which  even  the  order  of  the  day  and 
the  names  of  the  reporters  were  published  in  the  pre¬ 
liminary  notice,  was  once  more  held  in  Switzerland. 
It  met  on  the  3rd  of  October  1887,  in  the  hall  of  the 
Schonwegen  Brewery  near  St.  Gallen.  Although  it  was 
considerably  better  attended  than  the  two  previous 
Congresses,  on  this  occasion  also  the  German  police 
learned  of  the  place  of  assembly  only  after  it  had  been 
opened  for  some  days  ;  and  even  then  they  obtained 
their  earliest  information  from  the  reports  published  by 
the  Social  Democratic  Party ;  for  Congress  now  issued 
current  reports  of  its  proceedings  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Press.  Moreover,  members  of  the  Swiss  Social  Demo¬ 
cratic  Party  who  occupied  prominent  positions  were 
present  during  the  proceedings,  so  that  an  accusation 
that  a  meeting  of  a  secret  society  had  been  held  would 
have  been  untenable.  Not  a  word  was  said  in  Congress 
of  the  Zurich  Sozialdemokrat.  It  concerned  itself  only 
with  general  questions  of  politics  and  social  policy,  but 
with  a  reviving  emphasis  as  regards  its  strict  and  in¬ 
domitable  enmity  toward  the  Government  and  the  ruling 
classes.  In  particular  it  declared,  in  a  resolution  moved 
by  Ignaz  Auer,  its  inexorable  hostility  to  the  economic 
policy  of  Prince  Bismarck,  with  its  fostering  of  indirect 
taxation,  as  well  as  the  monopolising  for  financial  pur¬ 
poses  of  important  articles  of  popular  consumption. 

The  successful  outcome  of  the  Congress  made  a 
great  impression  on  the  public.  It  was  a  slap  in  the 
face  for  the  Bismarck-Puttkamer  police  system  ;  not 
only  in  the  eyes  of  the  working  classes,  but  also  in 
those  of  the  youth  of  the  intellectual  classes.  Social 
Democracy  had  visibly  gained  in  moral  significance. 
In  order  to  return  the  blow,  Bismarck  laid  before  the 
Reichstag  the  draft  of  a  new  penal  law,  which  was  to 


142 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


exceed  all  “  exceptional  legislation  ”  hitherto  intro¬ 
duced  in  its  lust  of  persecution.  According  to  this 
law  participation  in  congresses  held  abroad  which 
served  to  further  Social  Democratic  efforts,  participa¬ 
tion  in  secret  combinations  or  associations,  and  the 
“  businesslike  distribution  ”  of  prohibited  literature 
would  be  punished,  not  only  by  imprisonment,  but  also 
by  the  mediaeval  measure  of  proscription — outlawry — 
expatriation. 

And  this  monstrous  proposal,  whose  execution  and 
penalties  would  run  counter  to  all  modern  conceptions 
of  justice,  had  apparently  a  good  prospect  of  becoming 
law.  In  February  1887,  after  the  Reichstag  had  been 
dissolved  on  account  of  the  question  of  a  new  demand 
for  a  seven  years'  military  service,  fresh  elections  took 
place,  at  which  the  pretended  danger  of  a  war  with 
France  was  exploited  by  means  of  an  inundation  of 
pamphlets  and  broadsheets,  whose  exaggerated  language 
was  unprecedented.  A  coalition  of  Conservatives, 
Imperialists,  and  National  Liberals  obtained  a  majority, 
and  in  most  cases  this  Coalition  Party  willingly  placed 
itself  at  Bismarck’s  disposal,  even  for  his  legislation. 
It  really  looked  for  a  time  as  if  the  expatriation  pro¬ 
posal  would  obtain  a  majority. 

But  then  a  happy  chance  assisted  Social  Democ¬ 
racy  to  strike  a  counter-blow  which  safeguarded  it 
against  this  “  exceptional  law  ”  :  some  one  who  had  an 
opportunity  of  looking  into  the  records  of  the  Berlin 
Secret  Police  gave  the  deputy  Singer  a  list  of  the  agents 
of  the  political  police.  The  list  found  its  way  to  Zurich 
and  was  used  in  order  to  surprise  some  of  the  persons 
named  in  it,  the  persons  affected  confessing  more,  in  their 
confusion,  than  they  would  otherwise  have  done.  And 
Paul  Singer,  at  the  first  reading  of  the  projected  law  in 
the  Reichstag,  was  able  to  present  a  document  which 
afforded  unexceptionable  proof  that  agents  of  the 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


143 


Berlin  police  in  Zurich  and  Geneva  were  expressly 
urged  by  their  superiors  to  ply  the  unclean  trade  of 
agents  provocateurs .  This  meant  that  people  had  even 
been  incited  to  commit  outrages,  and  Anarchists  of  a 
dangerous  type  had  been  abetted  in  their  intended 
acts  of  violence.  In  the  case  of  one  of  these  agents 
in  the  pay  of  the  Berlin  police,  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Schroder,  the  Zurich  police,  on  making  a  domiciliary 
visit,  discovered  a  chest  of  dynamite,  and  it  was  estab¬ 
lished  that  Schroder  had  presided  at  a  conference 
of  Anarchists,  at  which  outrages  were  advocated,  some 
of  which  were  actually  perpetrated.  The  impression 
produced  by  these  revelations  was  so  crushing,  and 
produced  such  a  great  effect  upon  the  public,  that  the 
Reichstag  contented  itself  with  merely  postponing 
further  consideration  of  the  projected  anti-Socialist 
laws,  while  the  clause  relating  to  expatriation,  being 
supported  only  by  a  dwindling  minority,  was  expunged. 
This  was  in  February  1888.  The  Minister  responsible 
for  the  "  exceptional  legislation,”  Puttkamer,  who  had 
spoken  in  favour  of  this  proposal,  suffered  a  serious 
defeat.  But  as  on  an  earlier  occasion,  he  and  his 
unmasked  police  agents  obtained,  to  make  use  of  the 
expression  which  he  employed,  a  “  brilliant  compensa¬ 
tion.”  On  this  occasion  Paul  Singer,  after  he  had  un¬ 
masked  an  agent  provocateur  working  in  Berlin,  was 
expelled  from  the  capital,  and  thereby  compelled  to 
retire  from  the  firm  which  he  had  founded.  And  it  so 
happened  that  two  months  after  the  exposure  of  the 
Puttkamer  detective  organisation  and  its  economic 
methods,  in  April  1888,  the  Bundesrat  of  the  Swiss 
Confederacy  banished  from  Switzerland  the  editor  of 
the  Sozialdemokrat  (myself),  the  business  manager  and 
dispatcher  (Julius  Motteler),  the  manager  of  the  Pub¬ 
lishing  Department  (Hermann  Schliiter),  and  the 
manager  of  the  Printing  Department  (Leonhard 


144 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Tauscher).  In  respect  of  the  accusation  immediately 
made  by  Swiss  citizens  that  it  had  complied  with 
pressure  exercised  from  Berlin,  the  Bundesrat  solemnly 
protested  that  it  had  only  followed  its  own  well-con¬ 
sidered  promptings,  and  as  far  as  the  official  proceedings 
were  concerned  this  may  well  have  been  the  case. 
There  are  many  ways  of  suggesting  a  desired  course  of 
action.  The  Sozialdemokrat ,  of  which  a  weekly  edition 
of  nearly  12,000  copies  now  found  its  way  into  the 
German  Empire,  had  put  the  Bismarck-Puttkamer 
system  to  very  great  inconvenience,  and  indirectly,  of 
course,  had  caused  the  Swiss  Federal  Council  a  good 
deal  of  unpleasantness.  Thus  it  was  by  no  means 
difficult  for  an  intermediary  by  means  of  hints  at  the 
dissatisfaction  caused  by  the  fact  that  Switzerland 
was  given  over  to  a  “  brood  of  revolutionary  con¬ 
spirators  inimical  to  the  Empire,”  to  generate  that 
frame  of  mind  in  Bundesrat  circles  in  which  no  par¬ 
ticular  pressure  was  required  to  bring  about  the  intro¬ 
duction  of  the  measure.  In  any  case  no  such  crude 
proceedings  were  necessary  as  Bismarck,  a  few  years 
earlier,  had  employed  in  the  case  of  Belgium,  in  order 
to  compel  her  to  adopt  a  new  penal  clause — the  so- 
called  “  tinker’s  clause.”  We  therefore  remained  in 
doubt  as  to  the  admonitions  to  which  the  Swiss  Bun¬ 
desrat  was  subjected,  when,  contrary  to  the  best  tradi¬ 
tions  of  the  Confederacy,  it  handed  us  our  passports. 
It  was  said  in  various  quarters  that  fears  as  to  possible 
difficulties  in  the  negotiation  of  a  new  German-Swiss 
commercial  treaty,  which  had  then  become  necessary, 
were  not  without  their  influence  upon  the  resolution 
taken  by  the  Bundesrat. 

However  this  may  be,  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that 
when  the  Bundesrat  had  resolved  to  banish  us,  that 
very  member  of  the  Bundesrat  who  was  supervisor  for 
the  Federal  Police,  the  honest  Waadtlander  Democrat, 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


145 


Louis  Ruchonnet,  resigned  his  office  in  a  rather  demon¬ 
strative  manner.  In  the  same  way,  that  member  of 
the  Zurich  Government  Board,  who  was  supervisor 
over  the  police  of  the  Canton  Zurich,  the  highly  culti¬ 
vated  Regierungsrat  Stossel,  a  Socialist  of  the  school 
of  Friedrich  Albert  Lange,  resigned  his  supervisorship 
immediately  after  our  expulsion,  and  turned  his  at¬ 
tention  to  educational  matters  instead.  Finally,  Police- 
Captain  Fischer,  the  Chief  of  Police  for  the  City  of 
Zurich,  assured  us  in  an  unequivocal  manner  that  his 
sympathies  were  not  with  the  German  detective  service, 
but  with  us,  in  our  struggle  against  them.  We  were 
thus  in  the  truly  peculiar  position  of  being  banished 
from  Switzerland  against  the  individual  wishes  of  the 
chiefs  of  police,  of  the  Confederacy,  the  canton,  and  the 
city  !  In  particular  the  democratic  feeling  of  the  Swiss 
people  was  strongly  opposed  to  our  banishment.  In 
the  National  Council  Theodor  Curti,  among  others, 
made  an  excellent  political  speech  against  it,  which 
produced  a  great  impression,  and  was  afterwards 
published  as  a  pamphlet.  At  a  great  meeting  of  pro¬ 
test  held  in  Zurich  many  well-known  spokesmen  of 
Swiss  Social  Democracy  took  the  field  against  the 
Bundesrat,  among  them  the  Professor  of  Natural  History, 
Arnold  Dodel-Port,  who  was  in  a  condition  of  painful 
excitement.  We  had,  too,  no  lack  of  evidence  of  per¬ 
sonal  sympathy.  Even  the  Bundesrat  did  its  best  to 
make  the  measure  as  endurable  to  us  as  possible.  It 
granted  us  of  its  own  free  will  a  delay  of  four  weeks  in 
which  to  settle  our  affairs,  and  even  caused  its  agents 
to  inquire  of  us  whether  we  were  in  need  of  financial 
help  to  accomplish  our  removal,  an  offer  which  we  of 
course  declined  with  thanks.  We  published  in  the 
Sozialdemokrat  a  long  manifesto,  in  which  we  protested 
that  we  had  never  knowingly  caused  any  inconvenience 
to  Switzerland,  and  explained  that  we  sought  the  actual 
io 


146 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


authors  of  our  expulsion,  not  in  Berne,  but  in  Berlin ;  and 
that  we  bade  farewell  to  Switzerland,  in  which  we 
had  so  long  found  an  asylum,  without  any  feeling  of 
bitterness. 

Certainly,  apart  from  the  publication  and  smuggling 
into  Germany  of  the  Sozialdemokrat,  we  had  been  guilty 
of  nothing  which,  in  a  country  where  the  Press  was  free, 
could  in  any  way  be  regarded  as  compromising.  The 
language  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  had  of  course  been  pretty 
free  at  times,  but  it  did  not  exceed  that  which  the 
Democrats  in  exile  had  themselves  had  to  put  up  with. 
I  pointed  this  out  when  rumours  of  the  threatened 
banishment  had  reached  me,  by  publishing,  with 
a  few  artless  introductory  remarks,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  front  page  of  the  Sozialdemokrat,  several  extracts 
from  the  literature  of  Radicalism  dating  from  before 
and  since  1848 ;  but  this,  it  seemed,  was  in  Berne  regarded 
as  an  insulting  procedure.  But  what  had  chiefly 
incensed  people  against  us  was  a  combative  broad-sheet, 
which,  during  the  elections  of  1887,  had  been  employed 
by  us  as  a  counter-weapon  against  the  propagandist 
literature  of  the  Bismarck  Coalition,  which  was  exploiting 
the  fear  of  the  French.  It  was  published  under  the 
title  of  The  Red  Devil  and  printed  on  deep  red  paper. 
This  journal,  whose  title  had  been  suggested  by  the 
Diable  d  Quatre,  published  by  the  opponents  of  the 
Second  Empire  in  France,  Edouard  Lockroy  and  his 
comrades,  and  which  contained  some  pungent  contri¬ 
butions  from  poetically  gifted  comrades  in  the  Empire, 
did  not  fail  to  deliver  some  bitter  attacks  upon 
those  at  the  helm  of  the  Empire,  and  it  cannot  be  dis¬ 
puted  that  some  of  them  went  rather  further  than  was 
expedient  for  the  good  of  the  party.  But  one  must  not 
forget  that  the  Sozialdemokrat  and  almost  everything 
else  that  the  party  Press  published  was  obliged  to  express 
in  concentrated  form  the  indignation  by  which  the 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


147 


adherents  of  a  party  subjected  to  the  “  exceptional 
legislation  ”  were  ever  and  again  overcome.  Our 
banishment  raised  the  question  whether  the  Sozial- 
demokrat  should  continue  to  appear  in  Zurich  under  the 
management  of  Swiss  citizens,  or  should  be  removed, 
with  us  exiles,  to  London,  where  we  intended  to  go  next. 
After  profound  consideration,  the  latter  course  was 
decided  upon. 

So  the  day  of  our  departure  drew  near  :  the  12th 
of  May  1888.  The  Zurich  working  classes  did  not  fail, 
at  the  last  moment,  to  give  a  demonstrative  proof  of  their 
sympathy  for  the  exiles.  The  wide  Bahnhofplatz  was 
at  the  appointed  hour  overflowing  with  people  ;  and 
the  roads  alongside  the  railway  and  the  bridges  and 
level-crossings  were  black  with  people.  The  exiles  were 
handed  great  wreaths  with  red  favours  and  appropriate 
inscriptions,  as  well  as  tasteful  bouquets  of  flowers, 
and  wherever  they  appeared  there  was  loud  cheering, 
and  repeated  cries  of  “  Auf  Wiedersehen.”  As  if  this 
was  not  already  enopgh  to  sadden  us,  melancholy 
sinners  as  we  were,  the  very  heavens  did  their  best  to 
make  our  departure  from  Zurich  painful.  It  was  a 
wonderful  day  of  May  :  the  Ziirichzee,  which  I  had 
grown  to  know  so  intimately,  glittered  in  the  glorious 
sunshine ;  the  surrounding  mountains,  with  their 
manifold  shades  of  green,  and  their  changing  outlines, 
rose  vividly  before  us,  and  behind  them  glistened  the 
snow-covered  peaks  of  the  Alps  of  Central  Switzerland, 
while  the  higher  hill-pastures  were  decking  themselves 
in  fresh  colours — everything  in  nature  and  man  alike 
showed  us  its  most  friendly  side.  And  now  we  had  to 
leave  it  all — who  knew  for  how  long  ?  Nature  has 
denied  me  the  faculty  of  weeping,  but  as  the  train  drew 
out  of  the  Zurich  station,  the  tears  stood  in  my  eyes. 
Zurich  had  been  a  second  home  to  me,  my  deputy-home, 
I  might  call  it.  All  that  it  offered  me,  its  intellectual 


148 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


stimulus,  its  absorbing  street-scenes  eloquent  of  the 
present  and  the  past,  its  many  natural  charms,  the 
nearness  of  the  Alps,  and  the  amenities  of  the  lake — 
all  these  I  had  enjoyed,  be  it  said,  with  a  sense  of  the 
intensest  gratitude — and  there  I  had  made  many  dear 
friends,  and  had  learned  to  understand  and  value  the 
character  of  the  people.  People  describe  the  Swiss  as 
being  “  on  the  make,”  as  given  over  to  the  cult  of  money. 
In  this  respect  I  have  not  found  them  different  from 
the  inhabitants  of  other  capitalist  countries  ;  but  they 
are  often  rather  more  ingenuous,  or,  if  you  like,  less 
adroit.  In  Karl  Marx's  Herr  Vogt  some  one  relates 
of  a  Swiss  peasant  that  on  hearing  the  news  of  the 
unsuccessful  outcome  of  the  Baden  Palatinate  rising  he 
exclaimed  :  “I  had  rather  the  Lord  God  had  lost  His 
best  yoke  of  cows  ”1  ;  and  the  narrator  remarks,  bene¬ 
volently,  that  the  worthy  husbandman  would  not 
willingly  have  sacrificed  his  own  cows,  but  that  it  was 
really  very  nice  of  him  to  be  willing,  at  all  events,  to 
give  the  Lord  God's  cows  for  the  revolution.  Quite 
in  the  spirit  of  this  anecdote  my  Zurich  landlord,  an 
honest  master  mechanic,  when  I  had  been  prevented  by 
the  “  higher  authorities "  from  obtaining  the  whole 
benefit  of  my  lease,  made  no  abatement  for  that  part 
of  the  lease  which  had  still  to  run.  But  as  I  was  leaving 
his  house  on  the  day  of  our  departure  he  shook  hands 
with  me  at  the  door,  evidently  much  moved,  and  burst 
into  sobs.  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense.  One  must  not 
ask  too  much  of  people,  if  one  wishes  to  like  them,  says 
Diderot,  and  in  this  respect  I  have  all  my  fife  been  in 
agreement  with  the  author  of  Rameau's  Nephew. 

At  the  railway  station  of  Baden  Aurgau  the  police- 
captain,  Fischer  of  Zurich,  entered  our  compartment. 

1  Cows,  bullocks,  oxen,  horses,  donkeys,  mules,  and  goats  are  used 
promiscuously  as  draught  animals  in  most  parts  of  Switzerland. 
— {Trans.) 


SECRET  CONGRESSES 


149 


He  had  received  instructions  from  the  Bundesrat  to 
accompany  us  as  far  as  the  Swiss  frontier,  and  con¬ 
sidered  it  to  be  more  tactful  not  to  join  us  in  Zurich, 
where  every  one  knew  him.  Moreover,  he  was  in  mufti. 
We  were  duly  grateful  for  this  consideration,  and 
entered  into  unconstrained  conversation  with  him.  Our 
journey,  since  we  had  to  avoid  German  territory,  was 
made  by  way  of  Olten,  Delemont,  and  Delle  into 1  France. 
We  thought  of  spending  two  or  three  days  in  Paris, 
where  we  wanted  to  visit  some  political  friends,  and 
then  to  London.  London  was  not  wholly  unknown  to 

me,  but  I  had  seen  little  in  it  that  reminded  me  of  home, 

/ 

and  I  had,  on  the  other  hand,  acquired  all  sorts  of 
unfavourable  ideas  respecting  the  country  and  the 
people.  Consequently  a  slight  dismay  overcame  me 
whenever  I  thought  of  the  coming  change  from  cheerful, 
familiar  Zurich  to  the  vast,  unfamiliar,  gloomy  capital 
of  England.  Before  all  it  was  inconceivable  to  me  that 
I  should  ever  be  able  to  feel  at  home  in  a  place  which 
offered  the  inhabitants  no  smooth  expanse  of  running 
water  on  and  in  which  to  disport  themselves.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  all,  the  inconceivable  came  to  pass. 

1  “  Into,”  see  p.  83. 


CHAPTER  VII 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON 


HEN  in  the  spring  of  1888  I  was  compelled  by 


imSTiTiw  T  ~'Ti  1  ~  f  -  **  .  -  •  —  ■ - -  -  '  -  - 

reason  of  mv  banishment  from  Switzerland, 


to  settle  in  London  with  my  colleagues  on  the 


staff  of  the  Sozialdemokrat,  that  city,  as  I  have  remarked  in 
a  previous  chapter,  was  not  wholly  unknown  to  me.  I 


had  already  paid  three  visits  to  the  giant  city  on  the 
Thames.  However,  my  sojourn  on  each  occasion  had 
been  only  a  short  one,  and  was  employed  for  quite  other 
purposes  than  studying  the  place  or  its  inhabitants. 

I  had  gained  only  a  superficial  impression  of  both  ;  so 
that  the  impressions  which  I  received  of  the  prominent 
figures  with  whom  these  earlier  journeys  had  brought 
me  into  contact  were  all  the  stronger. 

I  visited  London  for  the  first  time  at  the  end  of 
November  1880,  accompanied  by  my  party  comrade 
and  friend,  August  Bebel.  This  was  the  visit  to  Karl 
Marx  and  Friedrich  Engels  of  which  Bebel  has  written 

m 

in  the  third  volume  of  his  Autobiography  1  under  the 
title  of  “The  Canossa  Pilgrimage  to  London.”  I  myself 
have  written  something  about  it  somewhere  or  other, 
so  that  I  am  in  danger  here  and  there  of  repeating  myself. 

The  object  of  the  journey  was  to  seek  an  under¬ 
standing  with  the  two  spiritual  fathers  of  German  Social  I 
Democracy,  who  ha*d  been  greatly  exasperated  by  > 
certain  events  connected  with  the  foundation,  in  the 

1  An  abridged  translation  of  which  has  been  published  by  Mr.  T. 

Fisher  Unwin  under  the  title.  My  Life. 

150 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  151 

summer  of  1879,  of  the  Zurich  Sozialdemokrat,  and  were 
deeply  distrustful  of  the  Zurich  group  to  which  I  be¬ 
longed,  which  published  the  Sozialdemokrat.  The  two 
elders  were  particularly  displeased  with  me  :  but  no 
the  group  felt  such  need  of  standing  in  the 
good  books  of  the  authors  of  the  Communist  Manifesto 
as  I  myself.  My  delight  was,  therefore,  all  the  greater 
when  our  friend  Karl  Hochberg  declared  himself  pre¬ 
pared  to  assume  the  financial  expenses  of  a  fresh  attempt 
at  reconciliation,  with  the  London  Socialists. 

Bebel  and  I  met  at  Calais.  He  had  come  from 
Germany  through  Brussels,  and  I  from  Switzerland 
through  Lyons,  where  at  Hochberg’s  request  I  had  paid 
a  one  day’s  visit  to  the  French  Socialist,  Benoit  Malon. 
Neither  of  us  had  until  then  made  a  journey  by  sea, 
and  our  conversation  revolved  principally  round  the 
question,  how  we  should  stand  the  Channel  crossing. 
“  I  think  I  shall  get  through  without  being  sea-sick,” 
said  Bebel,  always  inclined  to  optimism.  “  I  shall 
certainly  fight  against  it,”  I  replied,  for  I  had  behind 
me  a  sleepless  night  in  a  none  too  comfortable  railway 
carriage.  However,  it  was  the  other  way  about.  With 
the  feeling  of  a  criminal  who  awaits  the  hangman’s  rope, 
I  boarded  the  steamer  which  was  to  take  us  from  Calais 
to  Dover.  Since  I  had  heard  or  read  that  those  are 
most  likely  to  escape  sea-sickness  who  remain  on  deck, 
I  sought  out  a  comer  of  the  deck,  pretty  well  forward, 
stationed  myself  there,  and  awaited  my  fate  with  a 
good  dose  of  fatalism. 

The  weather  was  very  rough  the  boat,  which 

was  only  of  moderate  dimensions,  was  thrown  hither 
and  thither  by  the  wind.  Foaming  waves  continually 
drenched  the  fore  part  of  the  deck,  and  splashed  me 
from  head  to  foot.  Very  soon  Bebel,  who  had  remained 
beside  me,  disappeared  with  the  words,  “  I  am  bad  !  ” 
In  the  same  manner  other  passengers  disappeared,  and 


152 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


finally  even  the  sailors  working  on  deck  withdrew  with 
the  treacherous  symptoms  of  sea-sickness.  I  fully 
expected  that  I  should  have  to  do  the  same,  but  I 
delayed  the  evil  by  passive  opposition,  and  did  not 
budge  from  my  place,  resolved  only  to  give  in  under 
the  extremest  compulsion.  On  a  few  occasions  I  really 
thought  the  fateful  moment  had  arrived,  but  each  time 
it  passed  me  by  ;  and  as  the  crisis  seemed  to  have 
reached  its  highest  point,  the  violent  plunging  ceased, 
the  vessel  pursued  its  course  more  quietly,  and  shouts 
of  “  Dover !  ”  fell  upon  my  ear.  Now  the  passengers 
appeared,  one  after  the  other,  and  at  last  Bebel,  with 
whom  matters  had  gone  very  badly,  so  that  it  was 
almost  an  hour  before  he  had  fully  recovered  from  his 
hardships.  When  we  got  ashore  he  was  so  exhausted 
that  he  brought  up  even  the  cup  of  coffee  which  I  offered 
him  to  put  some  strength  into  him  ;  and  during  the 
railway  journey  he  was  at  first  quite  apathetic.  Only 
when  we  had  left  Canterbury  behind  us  did  he  call  my 
attention,  with  a  glance,  to  the  fact  that  two  young 
ladies  who  were  our  fellow-passengers — half-fledged 
young  Englishwomen  returning  from  a  boarding-school 
in  France — were  nevertheless  very  pretty.  “  Well,”  I 
thought,  “  if  you  have  eyes  for  the  beautiful,  you’ve 
recovered  ”  ;  and  ten  minutes  later  we  were  engaged  in 
lively  conversation. 

In  London  we  were  taken  by  a  friend,  a  member  of 
our  party,  who  met  me  at  the  station,  to  a  small  hotel 
in  the  Soho  quarter,  which  harboured  many  Germans, 
and  on  the  following  day  we  set  out  for  122  Regent’s 
Park  Road,  the  home  of  Friedrich  Engels.  With  the 
help  of  a  Baedeker  and  the  smattering  of  English  which 
I  had  taught  myself,  I  thought  I  could  manage  without 
a  cab.  But  the  matter  was  not  quite  so  simple  as  I 
thought.  My  first  discovery  was  that  the  English  did 
not  pronounce  their  own  language  correctly.  I  should 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  153 


say  that  they  did  not  pronounce  it  as  I  had  learnt  it. 

I  could  not  understand  any  of  the  policemen  to  whom 
I  addressed  my  inquiries  as  to  the  route.  In  my  own 
excuse  I  may  observe  that  the  people  probably  pro¬ 
nounced  their  vowels  after  the  manner  of  the  lower 
classes  of  the  citizens  of  London, — after  the  Cockney 
fashion, — which,  of  course,  makes  it  more  difficult  for  a 
novice  to  understand  them.  Fortunately,  I  was  at 
least  certain  of  the  direction  to  be  followed,  and  after 
overcoming  various  difficulties,  j  I  brought  Bebel  to  1 
Engels’  house,  whence  I  was  about  to  return,  for  since 
it  was  Bebel  and  not  myself  who  had  been  invited  to 
Engels’,  I  had  thought  to  wait  until  the  invitation  was 
extended  to  me.  But  Engels  came  out  of  the  house 
just  as  I  was  about  to  bid  Bebel  good-bye,  and  at  once 
compelled  me  to  enter. 

Upstairs  we  soon  began  a  political  conversation, 
which  often  assumed  a  very  lively  character.  Engels’ 
stormy  temperament,  which  concealed  such  a  truly  noble 
character,  and  many  good  qualities,  revealed  itself  to  us 
as  unreservedly  as  the  joyous  conception  of  life  peculiar 
to  the  native  of  the  Rhineland.  “  Drink,  young  man  !  ” 
And  with  these  words,  in  the  midst  of  a  violent  dispute, 
he  kept  on  refilling  my  glass  with  Bordeaux,  which  he 
always  had  in  the  house.  In  those  days  Engels  had 
just  passed  his  sixtieth  year,  and  amazed  us  by  his 
great  bodily  and  mental  vigour.  This  tall,  slender  man 
hastened  through  the  long  London  streets  at  a  quicker 
pace  than  even  the  youngest  of  us.  To  keep  step  with 
him  upon  our  walks  was  no  easy  matter.  However,  I 
found  it  easier  than  to  keep  pace  with  him  in  drinking 
glass  upon  glass  of  wine. 

The  subject  of  our  dispute  was  the  question  of  the 
political  attitude  of  German  Social  Democracy  in  respect 
of  the  “  exceptional  laws  ”  promulgated  two  years  pre¬ 
viously  by  Bismarck,  and  the  theoretical  and  political 


154 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


attitude  of  the  Zurich  Sozialdemokrat.  Bebel  had  no 
difficulty  in  persuading  Engels  that  this  journal,  then 
edited  by  Georg  von  Vollmar,  was  at  all  events  maintain¬ 
ing  a  much  more  resolute  and  highly  principled  attitude 
than  many  of  the  leaders  of  the  party  in  Germany  ;  and 
that  the  internal  organisation  of  the  party  was  far  from 
being  so  advantageous  as  others  had  described  it  to 
the  two  “  ancients.” 

We  might  have  been  disputing  for  a  good  hour  at 
least  when  Engels  suddenly  declared  :  “  Now  it's  time 
to  go  to  Marx.”  We  put  on  our  overcoats  and  left  the 
house  with  him.  I  wanted  to  take  my  leave,  but  Engels 
expostulated  :  “  No,  no ;  you  come  along  with  us  to  the 
Moor.”  “  To  the  Moor  ?  ”  I  said.  "  But  who  is  he  ?  ” 
“  Why,  Marx,”  replied  Engels,  in  a  tone  that  signified 
that  one  must  as  a  matter  of  course  know  whom  he  meant. 
The  “  Moor  ”  was  the  nickname  which  Marx’s  children 
had  at  one  time  given  their  father,  in  reference  to  his 
jet-black  hair — which  had  meanwhile  become  a  beautiful 
white — and  his  sallow  complexion.  The  “  Moor  ”  lived 
close  to  Engels,  namely,  in  Maitland  Park  Road,  a  turn¬ 
ing  out  of  Haverstock  Hill,  which  runs  up  to  beautiful 
Hampstead  Heath. 

Engels,  like  Marx,  lived  in  one  of  those  family 
residences  which  were  then  the  normal  type  of  dwelling- 
house  in  London,  as  they  are  to-day,  though  the  style 
of  architecture  has  altered  somewhat.  For  middle-class 
families  able  to  pay  a  rent  of  £40  a  year  or  thereabouts 
there  were  at  that  time  dwelling-houses,  designed  really 
as  villas,  which  consisted  of  four  to  five  storeys  :  there 
was  a  basement  or  half -basement,  containing  the  kitchen, 
a  sitting-room,  and  offices  ;  a  ground  floor,  with  its 
hall  and  two  sitting-rooms — back  and  front  parlours, 
as  they  were  called  ;  a  first  floor,  containing  the  largest 
room  in  the  house,  which  as  a  rule  served  as  a  drawing¬ 
room,  though  Engels  used  it  as  library  and  workroom, 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  155 


together  with  other  smaller  rooms ;  while  the  upper  floors 
contained  two  or  three  bedrooms  and  lumber-rooms  or 
box-rooms. 

These  houses  are  much  taller  than  they  are  broad, 
and  the  cheaper  sort  are  high,  narrow  buildings  erected 
in  groups  of  eight,  ten,  or  twelve,  by  the  same  contractor, 
after  one  identical  model,  so  that  in  houses  belonging  to 
such  a  group  there  is  often  nothing  to  distinguish  one 
from  another.  The  very  short-sighted  Marx  was  always 
doubtful,  when  returning  home,  whether  he  was  standing 
in  front  of  his  own  house  or  that  of  one  of  his  neighbours, 
and  often  enough  it  was  the  refusal  of  his  latch-key  to 
open  the  door  that  first  told  him  that  he  had  gone  astray. 
Of  course,  this  erection  of  houses  by  the  dozen  greatly 
diminishes  the  cost  of  building,  and  is  one  of  the  reasons 
why  in  London  houses  with  eight  or  ten  rooms  of  varying 
sizes  and  a  small  garden  can  be  obtained  for  a  much 
lower  rent  than  in  any  of  the  Continental  capitals. 

People  who  have  hitherto  lived  only  in  flats  find  it 
at  first  a  good  deal  of  a  nuisance  to  have  to  climb  stairs 
in  order  to  go  from  room  to  room,  but  to  the  English  it 
seems  the  most  obvious  thing  in  the  world.  And  this 
separation  of  the  rooms  by  means  of  flights  of  stairs  has, 
in  addition  to  its  manifest  inconveniences,  a  good  many 
advantages.  The  Englishman  of  the  lower  middle 
classes  has  a  great  affection  for  his  sitting-room  in  the 
basement  or  half-basement,  usually  known  as  the  break- 
fast-room.  Conveniently  reached  from  the  kitchen, 
easily  warmed  in  winter,  and  not  too  warm  in  summer,  it 
is  used  for  all  meals  by  many  families,  and  in  the  evening 
is  the  general  resort  of  all  the  members  of  the  family. 
It  is  often  very  comfortably  furnished,  and  it  makes  a 
curious  impression  upon  one  accustomed  to  Continental 
ways  of  life  when  he  is  received  and  entertained  in  the 
basement  by  people  living  in  a  well-appointed  house. 

The  Marx’s  house  was  smaller  than  the  Engels’,  and 


.  156 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  rooms  in  the  basement  were  correspondingly  plainer. 
Nevertheless,  the  Marx  family  took  their  meals  in  the 
breakfast-room,  while  the  Engels,  whose  basement 
floor  was  quite  extensive,  ate  in  one  of  the  ground-floor 
sitting-rooms.  In  the  basement  room  of  Marx’s  house 
Bebel  and  I  were  entertained,  on  one  of  the  days  of  our 
visit  to  London,  at  a  fairly  large  and  well-appointed 
table. 

Marx’s  study  was  on  the  first  floor,  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  It  was  there  that  Marx  received  us  on  the 
first  day  of  our  visit.  He  greeted  Bebel  with  extreme 
cordiality,  treating  him  like  a  brother,  as  Engels  had  done 
previously.  Me,  too,  he  received  in  a  friendly  manner, 
and  since  the  conversation  turned  at  first  on  other 
questions  than  the  one  in  dispute,  it  was  very  much  more 
temperate  than  in  Engels’  house.  Although  Marx  was 
only  two  years  older  than  Engels,  he  gave  one  the  im¬ 
pression  of  being  a  much  older  man.  He  spoke  in  the 
quiet,  lucid  tone  of  a  patriarch,  and  was  quite  unlike  the 
picture  which  I  had  formed  of  him.  From  the  descrip¬ 
tions,  which  for  that  matter  were  mostly  furnished  by 
his  opponents,  I  had  expected  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  a  somewhat  suppressed,  highly  excitable  old  gentle¬ 
man  ;  and  now  I  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  a  very 
white-haired  man  whose  dark  eyes  held  a  friendly  smile, 
and  whose  speech  was  full  of  charity.  When  a  few  days 
later  I  was  expressing  my  surprise  to  Engels  that  I  had 
found  Marx  so  completely  unlike  what  I  had  imagined 
him  to  be,  he  remarked  :  “  Well,  the  Moor  can  thunder 
quite  properly  even  now,”  as  I  was  soon  to  have  occasion 
to  observe.  In  order  that  my  remarks  may  not  give 
rise  to  any  erroneous  conclusions,  I  will  add  that  the 
object  of  his  displeasure  was  the  book  of  a  third  person, 
of  which  we  happened  to  speak,  and  which  I  had 
attempted  to  defend. 

The  mission  which  had  brought  Bebel  and  myself  to 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  157 


London  had  been  concluded  in  a  wholly  satisfactory 
manner.  Bebel,  who  at  that  time  was  in  the  full  prime 
of  his  intellectual  powers,  delighted  both  the  old  men 
with  his  frankness,  and  the  exhaustive  explanations 
which  he  gave  them  concerning  the  political  situation 
in  Germany,  and  the  state  of  the  Social  Democratic 
Party.  As  for  me,  they  seemed  to  have  formed  a 
mental  picture  of  a  Socialist  of  the  arrogant,  academic 
type  ;  it  was  therefore  pleasant  to  find  that  they  had 
been  sent  a  man  who  was  body  and  soul  in  the  practical 
movement,  the  last  of  whose  qualities  was  self-conscious¬ 
ness  in  literary  matters.  One  day,  indeed,  Friedrich 
Engels  all  but  fell  upon  my  neck  when  I  confessed,  with 
some  shame,  that,  although  thirty  years  of  age,  I  had  not 
as  yet  written  a  book.  “  What,  you  have  never  yet  i 
written  a  book  ?  ”  he  cried.  “  That  is  really  excellent !  ” 
And  he  vehemently  inveighed  against  the  sort  of  people 
who,  without  even  having  properly  learned  anything, 
are  now,  in  Germany,  writing  books  on  every  possible 
subject.  That  a  man  who  had  some  ability  might,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-four,  write  such  an  epoch-making 
work  as  The  Condition  of  the  Working  Classes  in  England, 

I  forbore  to  remind  the  author  of  that  book. 

Our  stay  in  London  extended  at  that  time  to  a  week, 
a  space  of  time  in  which  one  can  observe  a  good  deal  of 
the  place  and  its  inhabitants.  But  I  was  so  completely 
absorbed  by  the  Socialist  movement,  during  our  walks 
I  hung  upon  Engels’  lips  to  such  an  extent,  my  thoughts 
and  ideas  were  so  much  concerned  with  a  comparatively 
small  circle  of  men,  that  I  took  back  with  me  only  a 
very  incomplete  impression  of  the  mighty  city  and  its 
inhabitants.  Almost  all  I  saw  struck  me  as  strange, 
but  I  had  not  the  time,  nor  was  my  English  sufficient, 
to  approach  either  men  or  things  more  closely.  Since 
Engels  at  once  took  Bebel  into  his  house  as  his  guest, 
while  I  remained  at  the  little  hotel  in  Soho,  I  lost  a 


158 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


great  deal  of  time  in  covering  the  long  distance  to 
Regent’s  Park ;  for  to  indulge  in  cabs  would  have 
exceeded  the  budget  which  I  had  decided  to  allow 
myself. 

One  day,  of  course,  we  paid  the  British  Museum  a 
visit.  Engels  showed  us  the  celebrated  Rosetta  stone, 
which  was  of  such  remarkable  assistance  in  deciphering 
the  hieroglyphs  ;  and  he  told  us,  as  characteristic  of  the 
intense  self-confidence  of  Lassalle,  that  the  latter,  when 
Marx  showed  him  the  stone  in  1862,  broke  out  with 
the  remark  :  “  What  would  you  think  if  I  were  some 
day  to  study  hieroglyphs  in  order  to  impress  the 
Egyptologists  ?  ”  We  know  now,  from  the  Memoirs 

Iof  Brugsch  Pasha,  that  Lassalle  did  really  seriously 
contemplate  taking  up  this  study. 

In  Marx’s  circle  they  had  little  that  was  good  to  say 
of  Lassalle.  Particularly  upon  the  women  of  the  family 
he  seemed,  during  his  visit  in  the  summer  of  1862,  to 
have  made  a  very  unfavourable  impression,  owing  to 
his  dandified  appearance,  so  that  Marx,  who  in  other 
respects  criticised  him  sharply  enough,  repeatedly 
defended  him  against  the  attacks  of  his  wife  and 
daughters. 

Marx’s  wife  was  already  a  great  sufferer  at  the  time 
of  our  visit.  Nevertheless,  on  the  day  when  we  were 
invited  to  the  midday  meal,  she  left  her  sick-bed,  in 
order  to  honour  us  by  her  presence  at  the  table.  She 
conversed  with  us  in  a  friendly  manner,  touching  upon 
our  activities,  duly  honouring  Bebel’s  deserts,  and 
proposing  our  health  :  but  she  was  soon  obliged  to 
leave  the  table  and  return  to  her  sick-room.  In  her 
manner  she  betrayed  the  well-bred  woman  :  her  con¬ 
versation,  however  ardent,  was  free  from  extravagance 
or  exuberance.  Of  Marx’s  daughters,  although  all 
three  were  present  at  the  midday  meal,  Eleanor,  the 
youngest,  was  the  only  one  with  whom  I  became  some- 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  159 


what  better  acquainted  at  that  time,  and  later  my  wife 
and  I  entered  upon  terms  of  close  and  affectionate 
friendship  with  her.  Her  interesting  personality  and 
her  tragic  end  should  justify  my  saying  something 
of  them  here.  In  1880  Eleanor  Marx  was  a  blooming 
young  maiden  of  twenty-four  summers,  with  the  black 
hair  and  black  eyes  of  her  father,  and  an  exceptionally 
musical  voice.  She  was  unusually  vivacious,  and 
took  part,  in  her  sensitive  and  emotional  manner,  in 
our  discussions  of  party  matters.  With  much  greater 
devotion  than  her  two  elder  sisters,  Tussy,  as  Eleanor 
was  called  by  her  friends  and  her  family,  had  dedicated 
herself  to  the  Socialist  movement.  But  there  was  yet 
another  influence  which  had  taken  hold  upon  her  soul : 
one  that  was  fateful  enough  in  her  later  life  :  that  of 
the  theatre.  Eleanor  Marx  was  an  inspired  worshipper 
at  the  shrine  of  the  dramatic  Muse,  and  would  dearly 
have  liked  to  tread  the  boards  herself.  Certain  letters 
exchanged  between  Marx  and  Engels  allow  us  to  read 
between  the  lines  what  an  inward  struggle  this  passion 
must  have  cost  her.  At  the  period  of  which  I  am  writing 
we  had  naturally  no  suspicion  of  this,  although  we  had 
an  opportunity  of  hearing  Eleanor  Marx  recite  at  an 
evening  entertainment. 

This  entertainment  was  given  for  the  benefit  of  the 
widow  of  a  Communard,  in  a  fairly  large  and  only 
moderately  well-lit  hall,  which  might  as  well  have  been 
the  class-room  of  one  of  the  many  denominational  schools 
which  were  distributed  all  over  London,  as  the  hall  of  a 
working-man’s  club.  Bebel  and  I  were  led  by  Engels, 
one  very  dark  night,  through  a  perfect  maze  of  streets 
to  the  hall,  which  according  to  my  calculations  must 
have  been  in  the  St.  Pancras  district.  The  room  was 
only  two-thirds  full,  but  the  public  was  interesting 
enough.  Besides  Marx,  with  his  daughters,  Friedrich 
Engels  and  August  Bebel,  there  were  all  sorts  of  political 


160 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


refugees  of  more  or  less  considerable  importance  in  the 
Socialist  Revolutionary  movement  of  their  own  country  ; 
among  them  the  Russian  Socialist,  Leo  Hartmann,  who 
had  taken  part  in  an  attempt  upon  the  life  of  Alexander  n. 
But — and  this  was  typical  of  English  conditions — on 
the  back  of  the  very  unassuming  programme  was  a  list 
of  subscriptions  towards  the  object  of  the  entertainment, 
and  at  the  top  of  it  were  the  words  :  "  Her  Majesty  the 
Queen  has  headed  the  List  with  £10.” 

The  recitation  given  by  Eleanor  Marx  was  the  poem 
of  “  The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin.”  As  my  English  was 
still  very  weak,  I  could  not  follow  the  words  at  all 
adequately  :  I  only  noted  that  Eleanor1^  recitation  was 
full  of  life,  and  that  she  spoke  with  a  great  wealth  of 
modulation  and  earned  a  great  deal  of  applause.  Later 
on  she  became  a  true  orator  and  artist  in  elocution. 
I  have  heard  her  at  working-men’s  clubs,  in  speeches  of 
a  political  nature,  express  herself  in  truly  poetical 
flights  of  imagination,  and  periods  that  delighted  the 
ear  :  and  her  English  accent  was  perfect.  Once,  in  the 
nineties,  when  she  was  speaking  at  the  Playgoers’ 
Club,  on  naturalism  in  the  modern  drama,  and  her 
ideas  were  in  direct  contradiction  to  those  of  a  portion 
of  her  hearers,  one  of  her  opponents,  at  the  conclusion  of 
his  own  remarks,  could  not  refrain  from  exclaiming  : 
“  But  there  is  one  thing  that  I  must  say.  Never,  until 
to-night,  as  I  listened  to  Mrs.  Aveling,  did  I  realise  of 
what  noble  beauty  the  English  language  is  capable.” 

About  a  year  after  her  father’s  death,  Eleanor 
Marx  contracted  a  “  free  marriage  ”  with  Dr.  Edward  B. 
Aveling,  who  was  to  be  her  evil  destiny.  His  similar 
conception  of  the  world,  his  position  in  the  party,  and  his 
love  for  the  drama,  sped  the  wooing  of  this  indubitably 
gifted  but  highly  undisciplined  man. 

This  was  the  time  when  Socialism,  which,  since 
the  breakdown  of  Chartism  and  the  Internationale,  had 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  161 


fallen  into  discredit  in  England,  was  making  its  appear¬ 
ance  in  new  forms,  and  was  at  first  preached  more 
particularly  by  the  Intellectuals,  a  party  of  whom, 
among  them  Aveling,  had  entered  the  new  movement 
from  the  ranks  of  the  freethinkers.  The  son  of  an  Irish 

s  ,  , 

Protestant  clergyman,  Aveling  had  been  educated 
at  University  College,  London,  which  was  conducted  on 
agnostic  lines.  There  he  studied  natural  science  and 
obtained  his  doctorate,  but  then,  following  his  theatrical 
propensities,  he  became  the  manager  of  a  company  of 
strolling  players,  which,  however,  suffered  shipwreck, 
so  from  this  he  turned  to  the  profession  of  agnostic 
lecturer,  his  speciality  being  lectures  on  the  teaching 
of  Darwin,  whom  he  had,  I  think,  known  personally. 
These  lectures  made  him  extremely  popular  in  the 
Radical  circles  of  the  day,  and  when  he  joined  the 
Socialist  movement  his  accession  appeared  to  many 
to  be  a  notable  acquisition.  Fundamentally  of  an 
enthusiastic  nature,  Eleanor  Marx  was  enraptured  by 
the  new  “  comrade,”  so  that  he  found  the  conquest  of 
her  heart  an  easy  matter.  Since  he  was  already 
married,  and  was  living  separated  from  his  wife,  but 
could  not  obtain  a  divorce,  his  connection  with  Eleanor 
had  either  to  be  kept  secret,  or  announced  before  all  the 
world  as  a  “  free  marriage.”  Eleanor  chose  the  latter 
course.  Every  young  movement  has  sectarian  features, 
and  loves  to  accentuate  the  breach  with  the  old  con¬ 
ditions,  in  every  possible  sphere,  and  in  a  demonstrative 
manner.  Eleanor,  when  she  formed  this  connection 
with  Aveling,  held  a  well-paid  post  in  one  of  the  better 
class  of  boarding-schools.  Since  she  was  greatly  valued 
there,  her  relations  with  Aveling,  had  she  kept  her  own 
counsel,  might  have  been  willingly  overlooked.  But 
she  notified  her  principal  formally  by  letter  of  her 
connection,  and  it  became  necessary  to  give  her  notice 
“  out  of  regard  for  the  majority.”  In  the  same  way  she 
ii 


162 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


closed  other  doors  against  her ;  but  not  so  many  as 
one  would  have  expected  after  this  confession.  “  My 
London  is  a  little  Paris,”  Friedrich  Engels  wrote  to  me, 
when  he  informed  me  of  Eleanor’s  connection  with 
Edward  Avehng  and  the  attitude  thereto  of  their  circle 
of  acquaintances.  A  somewhat  free  conception  of  life 
had  perhaps  permeated  certain  circles  of  London 
society. 

A  great  deal  of  the  opposition  which  Eleanor  en¬ 
countered  was  based  not  so  much  on  the  fact  that  she 
had  contracted  a  free  marriage,  as  on  the  fact  that  the 
masculine  partner  in  this  marriage  was  Edward  Aveling. 
His  reputation  in  the  Radical  and  Democratic  world 
of  London  was  already  very  bad,  and  it  became  worse 
year  by  year.  Whoever  has  read  or  seen  Bernard 
Shaw’s  The  Doctor* s  Dilemma — which  we  Germans  know 
under  the  title  of  The  Physician  at  the  Cross  Roads — 
will  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  somewhat  re¬ 
touched  Aveling  in  the  painter,  Dubedat.  Shaw,  who 
knew  both  the  Avelings  very  well,  gave  Dubedat 
nearly  all  the  characteristic  attributes  of  Edward 
Aveling  :  his  passion  for  having  everything  of  the  best ; 
the  assured  and  shameless  manner  in  which  he  borrowed, 
in  order  to  pay  for  his  pleasures,  the  scanty  cash  of  even 
the  poorest  of  his  acquaintances  ;  his  gift  of  fascinating 
the  ingenuous,  and  in  particular,  women,  by  his  lyrical 
and  aesthetic  affectations  and  flirtations,  in  order  to 
exploit  them  in  the  same  unceremonious  fashion  as 
that  in  which  a  spoilt  child  makes  a  convenience  of  its 
nurse  :  these  are  characteristic  features  of  the  man  for 
whom  Eleanor  Marx  sacrificed  herself  as  completely  in 
real  life  as  Mrs.  Dubedat  sacrificed  herself  for  her 
husband  in  the  play.  And  the  deliberate  blindness  and 
deafness  of  Mrs.  Dubedat  in  respect  of  all  that  was  said 
to  the  detriment  of  her  husband  is  precisely  the  counter¬ 
part  of  the  obstinacy  with  which  Eleanor  Aveling, 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  163 


despite  all  her  painful  experience  of  her  chosen  com¬ 
rade,  continued  to  believe  in  him  until  he  involved  her 
in  the  infamy  which  led  to  the  catastrophe.  For  the 
reality  was  in  this  case  tragic,  where  in  Shaw’s  play 
it  is  tragi-comic.  Edward  Aveling  did  indeed  “  die 
beautifully,”  like  Dubedat — a  death  which  any  one 
might  envy  him  :  while  reading  a  book,  in  an  easy- 
chair,  in  the  sunshine,  he  fell  asleep  for  ever.  But  he 
left  behind  him,  not  a  wife  who  had  self-sacrificingly 
tended  him  for  long  years,  who  was  “  soon  to  marry 
again,”  but  a  newly  married  wife,  with  whom  he  had 
contracted  a  legal  marriage  behind  Eleanor’s  back,  his 
first  lawful  wife  having  died  some  little  time  before. 
This  treatment  of  her  drove  Karl  Marx’s  daughter  to 
suicide.  » 

“  How  sad  has  life  been  all  these  years,”  ran  the 
note  which  Eleanor,  before  she  took  poison,  left  behind 
her  in  a  sealed  envelope  for  Aveling,  who  would  calmly 
have  torn  it  up  when  it  was  handed  to  him,  had  not  the 
coroner’s  officer  prevented  him.  A  sad  life — of  whose 
disillusions  the  valiant  daughter  of  a  valiant  father  had 
allowed  the  outer  world  to  learn  nothing. 

It  is  characteristic  of  Shaw  as  a  writer  that  he  should 
have  taken  a  marriage  which  ended  so  tragically  as  the 
Avelings’  for  the  basis  of  a  comedy.  I  once  called  him  a 
laughing  Ibsen — how  far  the  phrase  expresses  the  truth 
I  will  leave  others  to  decide.  However,  Shaw  was  to 
some  extent  justified  for  his  treatment  of  his  material 
by  Eleanor  himself.  In  her  letter  to  Frederick  Demuth, 
the  son  of  that  Lenchen  Demuth  who  was  so  greatly 
valued  by  the  Marx  family — a  letter  dated  the  5th  of 
February  1898 — which  referred  to  Edward  Aveling,  who 
a  few  months  earlier  had  plunged  her  into  the  greatest 
bewilderment  and  anxiety  by  his  sudden  disappearance, 
and  the  sale  of  her  possessions  over  her  head,  but  was 
now  a  sick  man,  who  needed  her,  she  said  : 


164 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


I 


I  * 


“  Dear  Freddy, — I  know  what  friendship  you  feel  for 
me,  and  how  sincerely  anxious  you  are  about  me.  But 
I  don’t  think  you  quite  understand — I  myself  am  only 
just  beginning  to  understand.  I  realise,  however,  more 
and  more,  that  wrong  behaviour  is  simply  a  moral 
sickness,  and  that  the  morally  healthy  (like  yourself) 
are  not  qualified  to  judge  the  condition  of  the  morally 
sick,  just  as  the  physically  healthy  can  scarcely  realise 
the  condition  of  the  physically  sick. 

“  There  are  people  who  lack  a  certain  moral  sense  just 
as  others  are  deaf  or  short-sighted  or  are  in  other  ways 
afflicted.  And  I  begin  to  realise  the  fact  that  one  is  as 
little  justified  in  blaming  them  for  the  one  sort  of  dis¬ 
order  as  for  the  other.  We  must  strive  to  cure  them,  and 
if  no  cure  is  possible,  we  must  do  our  best.  I  have  learnt 
to  perceive  this  through  long  suffering — suffering  whose 
details  I  could  not  tell  even  to  you — but  I  have  learned 
it,  and  so  I  am  endeavouring  to  bear  all  these  trials 
as  well  as  I  can.” 

And  two  days  later,  on  the  7th  of  February  1898 : 

“  My  dear,  dear  Freddy, — I  must  confess  that  I 
am  really  vexed  not  to  have  expressed  myself  quite 
clearly.  But  you  haven’t  understood  me  at  all.  And  I 
am  too  restless,  too  troubled,  to  explain  myself.  Edward 
is  going  into  a  hospital  to-morrow,  and  the  operation  will 
take  place  in  the  middle  of  the  week.  There  is  a  French 
proverb  :  ‘  To  understand  is  to  forgive.’  Much  suffering 
has  taught  me  much  understanding — and  so  I  do  not 
need  to  forgive.  I  can  only  love.” 

Then,  in  her  last  letter  to  Demuth,  on  the  1st  of  March 
1898  : 

“  Don’t  count  my  failure  to  write  as  negligence.  The 
trouble  is  that  I  am  depressed,  and  often  I  have  not  the 
heart  to  write.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  you 


..  ...  t*  :  ;  -Jo  . 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  165 


do  not  blame  me  too  greatly,  for  I  regard  you  as  one  of 
the  greatest  and  best  of  men  with  whom  I  have  ever  been 
acquainted. 

“It  is  a  bad  time  for  me.  I  fear  there  is  little  to 
hope  for,  and  the  pain  and  suffering  are  great.  Why  we 
all  go  on  like  this  I  do  not  understand.  I  am  ready 
to  go  and  would  do  so  with  joy,  but  so  long  as  he  needs 
help  I  am  bound  to  remain.” 

A  month  after  Demuth  had  received  this  letter — on 
the  31st  of  March  1898 — Eleanor  Marx  put  an  end  to  her 
life.  A  letter  which  she  had  received  that  morning, 
and  which  Edward  Aveling  destroyed  before  a  third 
person  had  read  it,  must  have  furnished  the  motive  of 
her  action.  "  For  Aveling’s  state  of  health  had  improved, 
and  the  arrangements  which  she  had  made  on  the 
previous  evening  were  of  such  a  nature  that  she  cannot 
have  meditated  an  immediate  suicide.  The  letter  must 
have  told  her  that  Aveling,  at  the  time  when  he  suddenly 
disappeared,  had  legally  married  a  very  young  actress, 
and  that  he  indeed  “  no  longer  needed  ”  her. 

She  had  believed  in  him  and  his  talent,  and  had 
conceived  great  hopes  of  him.  He  had  even  written  a 
few  curtain-raisers  which  had  been  successful.  But  his 
talent  was  not  equal  to  a  greater  dramatic  work  ;  it  was 
purely  receptive. 

In  one  of  Aveling’s  one-act  plays,  By  the  Sea ,  I  saw 
both  him  and  Eleanor  act.  In  company  with  the  then 
youthful  William  Sanders — now  Alderman  of  the  London 
County  Council  and  Secretary  of  the  Fabian  Society — 
they  often  played  this  piece,  which  was  founded  on 
Tennyson’s  “  Enoch  Arden,’’  at  working-men’s  clubs. 
Eleanor  played  the  young  wife,  who,  wavering  between 
love  and  loyalty,  chooses  the  latter,  with  great  warmth 
of  emotion  ;  but  the  play  was  too  much  attuned  to  a 
single  key  to  give  her  creative  powers  much  opportunity. 


166 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


What  far  different  possibilities  would  Bernard  Shaw’s 
Candida ,  who  has  to  make  a  similar  decision,  have 
offered  a  dramatic  artist !  But  Shaw  brings  real  people 
upon  the  stage  ;  not  mere  romantic  figures. 

Eleanor  Marx  had  made  her  first  attempt  as  an  actress 
while  her  father  was  yet  alive.  In  a  letter  to  Marx, 
dated  the  7th  of  July  1881,  Friedrich  Engels  writes  of 
this  appearance  : 

“  Tussy  was  very  good  in  the  emotional  scenes,  only 
one  noted  perhaps  that  she  had  taken  Ellen  Terry  as  her 
model,  as  Radford  had  taken  Irving,  but  she  will  soon 
get  over  that  ;  if  she  wants  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the 

I  public  she  must  strike  out  a  line  of  her  own  absolutely, 
and  that  she  will  surely  do.” 

From  these  remarks  it  will  be  guessed  that  Marx 
was  not  absolutely  opposed  to  Eleanor’s  choice  of  the 
actress’s  career.  Six  months  later,  on  the  12th  of 
January  1882,  Marx,  who  was  already  seriously  unwell, 
wrote  to  Engels  from  Ventnor  in  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
whither  he  had  gone  for  the  sake  of  his  health  with 
Eleanor,  to  the  effect  that  as  far  as  his  further  travelling 
arrangements  were  concerned,  Eleanor  must  be  regarded 
as  quite  out  of  the  question  as  his  companion. 

“  The  child  is  suffering  from  a  mental  discord  which 
is  quite  undermining  her  health.  Neither  change  of 
climate,  nor  travel,  nor  physicians,  can  do  anything  in  this 
case  ;  the  only  thing  one  can  do  for  her  is  to  give  her  her 
own  way,  and  let  her  go  through  her  course  of  dramatic 
lessons 1  with  Madame  Jung.  She  is  burning  with  eager¬ 
ness  to  make  for  herself,  as  she  believes  she  will  in  this 
way,  an  independent  career  as  an  artist,  and  once  she  is 
allowed  to  take  this  course,  she  is  at  all  events  right  to  lose 
no  more  time  at  her  age.  I  would  not  for  the  world 
that  the  child  should  regard  herself  as  an  old  man’s 

1  English  in  the  original  text. — (Trans.) 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  1G7 


nurse,  to  be  sacrificed  on  the  family  altar.  Indeed 
I  am  convinced  that  pro  nunc  Madame  Jung  alone  can 
be  her  physician.  She  is  not  frank  ;  what  I  say  is 
founded  on  observation,  not  on  her  own  confession.” 

These  few  lines  give  one  a  considerable  insight  into 
Marx’s  relations  with  his  daughters.  He  had  the 
greatest  affection  for  them,  and  had  more  than  a  father’s 
regard  for  them.  In  his  letters  to  Engels  he  employs 
only  the  tenderest  expressions  in  speaking  of  them. 
Eleanor  was  already  in  her  twenty-sixth  year,  but  in 
Ihese  letters  she  is  always  “  the  child,”  and  even  when 
mentioning  Jenny,  who  was  thirteen  years  older,  Marx 
always  speaks  of  “  the  child,”  or  uses  the  diminutive 
“  Jennychen.”  Jenny,  his  eldest  daughter,  was  especially 
dear  to  him.  She  had  lived  through  the  worst  period 
of  Marx’s  life,  at  an  age  when  children  already  under¬ 
stand  the  needs  of  their  elders,  and  was  her  father’s 
especial  confidante.  But  the  relation  between  Marx  and 
Eleanor  was  nevertheless  a  very  intimate  one.  From 
her  father,  who  in  many  ways  was  her  teacher,  she  had 
among  other  things  derived  her  great  veneration  for 
Shakespeare,  who  to  her  was  almost  an  idol.  She 
certainly  acquired  her  enthusiasm  for  the  dramatic  muse 
in  her  parents’  house.  Mother  and  father  were  great 
lovers  of  the  theatre,  and  often  the  whole  family  would 
make  the  long  pilgrimage  afoot  from  Haverstock  Hill  to 
Sadler’s  Wells  Theatre,  to  watch  the  great  Shakespearean 
actor,  Phelps,  from  the  standing-places — they  could  not 
afford  anything  better. 

I  learned  nothing  of  all  this  on  my  first  visit  ;  on 
the  other  hand,  I  noted,  from  Eleanor’s  behaviour  in 
the  family  circle,  that  this  girl  of  four-and-twenty  was 
still  treated  to  some  extent  as  the  youngest,  the  pet  of 
the  family. 


168 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


My  second  visit  to  England  took  place  in  1884.  I 
had  taken  part,  as  delegate  of  the  Swiss  Labour  move¬ 
ment,  in  a  convention  held  at  Lyons,  at  the  request  of 
the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Swiss  branch  of  the 
Social  Democratic  Party  ;  then,  on  the  invitation  of 
the  German  Socialist  Reading  Club  in  Paris,  I  gave  a 
lecture  there,  and  was  invited  by  Friedrich  Engels,  who 
had  learned  that  I  was  in  Paris,  to  go  over  to  London 
in  a  few  days’  time,  and  stay  with  him  as  his  guest. 
Interesting  as  this  journey  was  from  other  points  of 
view,  it  contributed  but  little  to  a  more  extensive 
acquaintance  with  England  and  the  English.  Marx 
had  died  in  the  March  of  1883,  and  the  whole  of  his 
literary  remains  had  come  into  Engels’  hands  ;  and  he, 
with  the  greatest  devotion,  was  sifting  and  arranging  it, 
in  order  to  make  as  much  as  possible  of  his  friend’s 
work  available  for  publication.  When  I  had  arrived 
in  London  he  read  to  me,  night  after  night,  until  the 
small  hours  of  the  morning,  passages  from  Marx’s 
manuscripts,  and  the  synopsis  of  a  book  with  which  he 
connected  Marx’s  extracts  from  the  American  writer 
Lewis  Morgan’s  Ancient  Society.  This  meant  getting 
up  all  the  later.  After  breakfast,  we  would  read  the 
newspaper,  attend  to  our  correspondence,  and  work  ; 
then  came  lunch,  and  after  lunch  a  walk  together  over 
Primrose  Hill  through  Regent’s  Park  ;  then,  at  home 
again,  a  little  more  work  was  done  ;  at  seven  o’clock  was 
dinner,  after  which  Engels  first  of  all  dozed  a  little  ; 
and  finally,  by  the  fireside,  he  would  tell  me  of  Marx’s 
work,  or  read  aloud  from  his  manuscripts.  This  was 
the  whole  day,  according  to  our  manner  of  living  ;  and 
only  twice  did  I  break  away  from  the  latter,  during 
Engels’  working-hours,  in  order  to  visit  German  party 
comrades  who  were  living  in  London  in  exile.  On  a 
few  occasions,  too,  Eleanor  Marx  looked  in  for  half  an 
hour,  as  did  Ellen  Rosher,  a  niece  of  Engels’  dead  wife, 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  169 


who  had  grown  up  in  his  house  like  a  child  of  his  own  ; 
but  I  came  even  less  into  contact  with  English  people 
on  this  occasion  than  during  my  first  visit.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  now  learned  to  know  the  faithful  Lenchen 
Demuth.  Friedrich  Engels  had  engaged  this  excellent 
person,  who  had  served  the  Marx  family  from  the 
earliest  days,  when  Marx  and  his  wife  set  up  house¬ 
keeping,  until  Marx’s  death,  as  his  housekeeper,  and 
treated  her  like  a  member  of  the  family,  with  pathetic 
affection  and  attention.  Nimmy,  as  the  Marx  children 
loved  to  call  her,  or  Nimmchen,  as  Engels  liked  to 
address  Helene  Demuth,  was  initiated  in  all  the  affairs 
of  the  household,  and  had  her  own  opinion  of  Marx’s 
visitors,  to  which  she  would  sometimes  treat  one,  in 
exceedingly  downright  language. 

Although  I  had  not  learned  to  know  the  English,  I 
had,  on  my  two  journeys,  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Frenchman  at  home.  In  Lyons,  where  I  had  to  speak, 
an  artisan  belonging  to  the  Marxist  party,  a  cabinet¬ 
maker  by  trade,  had  met  me  at  the  station,  taken  me 
to  a  modest  inn,  and  after  we  had  eaten,  had  spent  the 
evening  with  me  walking  along  the  banks  of  the  Rhone 
and  Saone.  He  was  a  Frenchman  of  the  South  ;  but 
how  well  I  remember  his  mannerisms,  and  his  way  of 
describing  and  passing  judgment  upon  our  German 
workers  !  Behind  the  sympathies  of  the  Socialist,  the 
national  differences  receded  completely  into  the  back¬ 
ground.  Late  in  the  evening  Jules  Guesde  arrived 
from  Paris.  He  was  to  be  the  special  speaker  at  the 
appointed  meeting.  Another  day  the  Socialists  of 
Lyons,  after  they  had  once  more  taken  us  for  a  walk, 
gave  us  a  lunch  high  up  in  the  Croix  Rouge  quarter. 
It  was  then  that  a  national  peculiarity  came  into  view. 
It  was  incredible  what  heaps  of  bread  were  consumed 
at  this  meal,  although  there  was  no  lack  of  meat  of 
different  kinds.  Into  the  gravy  soup,  which  already 


170 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


had  squares  of  bread  in  it,  the  Frenchmen  broke  more 
bread,  which  stood  stacked  up  in  great  platefuls  on  the 
table,  until  the  soup  became  a  sort  of  mush.  It  was, 
of  course,  white  bread,  beautifully  light  and  spongy. 

The  meeting  was  held  in  a  circus,  but  since  it  was 
Sunday  afternoon,  and  enchantingly  beautiful  spring 
weather,  it  was  not  over-well  attended.  The  wide  hall 
could  have  held  half  as  many  people  again  as  put  in  an 
appearance.  Although  a  meeting  at  which  defects  are 
exposed  is  usually  a  critical  meeting,  Guesde — the  s  in 
whose  name  was  sounded  by  my  Lyonnais  artisan — 
won  a  perfect  storm  of  applause.  He  was  very  sarcastic 
in  his  dealings  with  the  mischievous  concessions  which 
the  State  had  granted  certain  railway  companies.  Once, 
as  he  cried  to  the  meeting  after  a  volley  of  applause, 
“  Don’t  clap  ;  I’m  not  making  a  speech ;  I’m  only 
talking  to  you,”  a  working  man  standing  in  front  called 
out :  “  Mais  nos  cceurs  vous  applaudissent !  ” 

Truly,  that  would  hardly  have  occurred  to  a  German 
working  man. 

Guesde  made  no  further  speeches  in  Lyons,  but  we 
both  of  us  delivered  speeches  at  Roanne,  a  manufacturing 
town  engaged  in  the  textile  industry  of  the  south  of 
France.  There  the  workers,  as  well  as  the  character 
and  tone  of  the  unusually  well-attended  meeting,  gave 
me  quite  the  impression  to  which  I,  hailing  from  Germany, 
was  accustomed.  And  as  I  saw,  on  the  platform,  sitting 
at  a  table  close  at  hand,  two  policemen,  one  of  whom 
was  busily  taking  notes,  my  eyes  almost  grew  dim,  so 
greatly  did  the  sight  remind  me  of  home.  Five  years 
of  life  and  activity  in  Switzerland  had  made  such  a 
spectacle  seem  quite  unaccustomed. 

My  third  journey  to  London  was  again  made  in 
Bebel’s  company.  It  took  place  in  November  1887, 
and  was  undertaken  in  order  to  negotiate  with  the 
English  Socialists  in  respect  of  a  Socialist  and  Labour 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  171 


Congress  to  be  held  the  following  year.  As  a  result, 
I  was  of  course  brought  into  contact  with  English  people. 
We  made  the  acquaintance  of  Edward  Aveling,  and 
we  also  had  a  conference  with  H.  M.  Hyndman,  the 
leader  of  the  Social  Democratic  Federation,  and  William 
Morris,  the  intellectual  head  of  the  Socialist  League, 
which  had  seceded  from  the  Federation,  in  which  several 
satellites  of  these  central  suns  took  part.  On  the  other 
hand,  we  did  not  on  that  occasion  find  the  secretary 
of  the  Parliamentary  Trade  Union  Committee,  Henry 
Broadhurst,  who  was  even  then  a  very  influential 
member,  in  London  ;  nor  his  private  secretary,  a  well- 
nourished,  red-cheeked  young  man,  one  of  the  few 
Englishmen  whom  I  have  come  across  who  corresponded 
with  the  type  of  John  Bull  as  one  pictures  him  in 
Germany.  That  there  was  a  Labour  movement  on 
the  Continent  also  seemed  absolutely  news  to  him,  but 
it  did  not  appear  to  afford  him  much  food  for  thought. 
Very  different  were  Hyndman  and  the  magnificent 
William  Morris.  But  I  had  better  speak  of  them  when 
I  describe  my  twelve  years’  residence  in  London,  which 
began  with  my  fourth  journey  to  England  in  May  1888. 

At  the  time  of  our  visit  in  November  1887,  Bebel 
and  I  witnessed  one  of  the  demonstrations  of  the  unem¬ 
ployed,  which  since  the  beginning  of  1886  had  been 
taking  place  almost  continually  at  the  foot  of  the  Nelson 
Column  in  Trafalgar  Square,  and  at  which  unusually 
revolutionary  speeches  were  made  by  Socialist  agitators. 
The  years  1886  and  1887  were  in  England  times  of 
great  industrial  depression  ;  the  unemployment  was  so 
great  that  even  the  best  situated  Trade  Unions  had  to 
reckon  with  the  possibility  of  no  longer  being  able  to 
pay  their  members  their  unemployment  pay.  It  may 
be  imagined  on  what  fruitful  soil  fell  the  bitter  speeches 
of  accusation  against  the  capitalist  system  which  were 
delivered  from  the  plinth  of  the  Nelson  Column,  at 


172 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


these  meetings,  to  workers  who  mostly  came  from  the 
East  End,  often  having  the  marks  of  hunger  stamped 
upon  their  faces.  So  long  as  matters  went  no  further 
than  mere  speech  the  police  did  not  interfere,  however 
seditious  it  sounded.  But  at  the  end  of  October  1887 
there  were  incidents,  as  there  had  been  the  previous 
year,  which  led  to  arrests  being  made,  for  the  unem¬ 
ployed  attempted  to  plunder  the  shops  in  the  neigh¬ 
bourhood  of  Trafalgar  Square.  The  Metropolitan  Police 
authorities  intervened  and  issued  an  order  which  pro¬ 
hibited  further  meetings  in  the  historic  square.  The 
Socialists  now  turned  to  the  Radical  and  Democratic 
elements,  and  in  particular  to  the  extreme  Liberal 
working-men’s  clubs  in  London,  and  called  upon  them 
to  stand  by  them  in  the  fight  for  the  palladium  of  English 
liberty,  the  right  of  free  assembly.  The  Liberals  were 
just  then  in  opposition,  and  were  at  the  same  time 
anxious  to  call  the  Government  to.  account  for  pro¬ 
hibiting  the  Irish  Nationalist  O’Brien  from  speaking. 
Accordingly,  they  were  all  the  readier  to  answer  the 
summons. 

In  spite  of  the  prohibition,  on  Sunday  the  13th  of 
November  a  great  meeting  of  protest  was  convened  in 
Trafalgar  Square  ;  which  was  attended  not  only  by  the 
Socialist  clubs,  but  also  by  the  more  radical  of  the 
Liberal  working-men’s  clubs  of  London.  From  all 
sides  processions  converged  at  the  appointed  hour, 
followed  by  the  mass  of  the  public,  who  filled  the  streets 
leading  to  the  great  square.  Even  the  police,  thoroughly 
prepared  and  posted  in  squads,  could  only  hold  back 
the  crowd  in  certain  avenues  of  approach.  At  other 
points  they  broke  through,  and  soon  the  square  was 
tolerably  closely  packed.  When  reinforcements  arrived 
for  the  police  whole  troops  pressed  forward,  beating 
with  their  truncheons  those  who  had  reached  the  square. 
As  always,  organised  force  was  victorious  over  the 


VISITS  TO,  AND  EXILE  IN,  LONDON  173 


unorganised,  and,  for  the  most  part,  unarmed  crowd, 
and  put  them  to  flight.  In  the  confusion  there  was  a 
general  sauve  qui  pent.  A  few  only  offered  a  stubborn 
defence.  Among  them  was  a  thick-set,  robust  artisan 
of  some  thirty  years  of  age,  with  black  hair  and  bushy 
eyebrows,  as  well  as  a  slender,  well-dressed,  dark-skinned 
man  in  whom  no  one  would  have  suspected  the  revolu¬ 
tionist.  Both  defended  themselves  like  lions,  until  the 
police  overpowered  them  and  placed  them  under  arrest. 
They  were  charged  with  opposing  the  authority  of  the 
State,  and  condemned  to  six  weeks’  imprisonment.  The 
fashionably  dressed  man  was  Cunninghame-Graham,  at 
that  time  Member  of  Parliament  for  the  Camlachie 


division  of  Glasgow  ;  a  member  too  of  the  upper  ten 
thousand,  who  had  been  elected  as  a  Radical,  but  had 


gone  over  to  the  Socialist  Party,  to  which  he  still 
belongs  to-day.  As  a  writer  he  is  greatly  admired, 
his  style  being  peculiarly  individual.  The  artisan  was 
the  engineer  and  Socialist  agitator  John  Burns,  a  man 
of  great  oratorical  powers,  noted  for  his  comprehensive 
grasp  of  administrative  problems.  Eighteen  years 
later  he  was  Cabinet  Minister  in  a  Liberal  Government. 


And  the  man  who  defended  the  two  revolutionaries 
was  a  young  barrister  who  had  just  entered  parlia¬ 


mentary  life,  but  for  whom  many  persons,  impressed  by 
his  varied  talents,  foretold  a  great  political  career.  In 
this  they -were  not  mistaken,  for  the  barrister’s  name  was 
Herbert  Henry  Asquith. 

. . .  -U  -  A 


CHAPTER  VIII 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES  AND  ENGLISH 
CHARACTERISTICS 

t  |  A  HE  emigration  of  the  Sozialdemokrat  from  Zurich 
to  London,  after  we  four  exiles  had  arrived  in 
-S-  the  English  capital,  necessitated,  as  one  of  the 
first  steps  to  be  taken,  the  renting  of  suitable  business 
premises. 

This  was  no  simple  matter.  Since  we  did  not  wish 
to  go  very  far  afield  from  that  part  of  town  in  which 
Engels  was  living,  we  could  think  only  of  renting  a 
whole  house,  which  would  be  large  enough  to  contain 
counting-house,  office,  compositors’  room,  publishing 
office,  and,  if  possible,  also  the  printing-press  ;  for  we 
entertained  the  idea,  at  first,  of  printing  the  paper  our¬ 
selves,  as  we  had  done  in  Zurich,  which  necessitated  a 
room  in  which  we  could  set  up  a  printing-press  of  by 
no  means  small  dimensions.  There  were  no  business 
or  industrial  premises  in  the  north-west  of  London  so 
divided  as  to  suit  our  purpose,  we  could  only  have  found 
such  premises  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  City,  where 
the  rents  are  very  high.  We  had  to  find  either  a  large 
dwelling-house,  with  an  outbuilding  where  the  machinery 
could  be  set  up,  or  a  house  with  a  shop  and  residential 
quarters  at  the  back,  such  as  are,  indeed,  to  be  found  in 
great  numbers  in  London  ;  but  in  the  neighbourhood 
which  we  were  considering  they  are  seldom  of  such  a 
nature  as  to  offer  us  all  that  we  needed  or  desired.  We 

had  to  make  a  thorough  search  :  and  so  for  us  began 

174 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


175 


the  pleasure  of  house-hunting,  as  the  English  call  it, 
which,  like  a  great  deal  of  other  hunting,  is  an  extremely 
fatiguing  form  of  pleasure.  But  it  afforded  us  the 
opportunity  of  obtaining  impressions  from  every  point 
of  view  of  the  social  life  of  this  section  of  the  capital. 

I  use  the  word  "  section  ”  deliberately  ;  for  Kentish 
Town,  where  we  made  our  search,  was  only  a  small 
section  of  London,  and  it  was  not  a  particularly  char¬ 
acteristic  section  either,  with  its  East  End  surroundings. 
Nothing  in  the  style  of  the  place,  nothing  in  the  character 
of  its  life  and  its  activities,  betrayed  its  connection  with 
the  mighty  commercial  emporium  of  the  British  Empire. 
Many  great  cities  include,  in  their  growth,  localities 
which  they  do  not  at  once  adapt  to  their  geographical 
organisation.  But  nowhere  does  one  encounter  more 
unmistakable  signs  of  the  original  independence  of  the 
locality  than  in  a  great  number  of  the  old  towns  and 
villages  with  which  London  has  coalesced  in  the  course 
of  the  years.  In  this  mighty  metropolis,  as  it  is  styled, 
for  the  geographical  concept  of  London  covers  a  whole 
conglomerate  of  villages  and  towns,  whose  centre  is  the 
actual  capital,  there  prevails  a  heterogeneity  and  an 
irregular  promiscuity  of  the  individual  parts  which  has 
not  its  like  elsewhere. 

For  a  long  time  the  same  thing  was  true  in  respect 
of  the  administration  of  London.  Every  place  had  its 
own  local  administration,  the  Vestry  ;  and  one  Vestry 
troubled  itself  very  little  as  to  what  the  others  did  :  a 
peculiar  method  of  local  government  which  was  not 
conducive  to  any  communal  feeling  affecting  London  as 
a  whole.  Only  for  a  few  common  purposes  a  sort  of 
federate  body  was  created  in  1885,  under  the  style  of 
the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works ;  but  it  was  very 
defective  in  its  operation,  and  in  the  very  year  of  our 
arrival  in  England  Parliament  was  preparing  to  trans¬ 
form  London  into  a  county,  with  one  single  County 


176 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Council,  to  be  elected  upon  a  fairly  democratic  suffrage. 
This  County  Council  came  into  being  in  the  year  1889, 
and  soon  acquired  a  certain  notoriety  as  a  novelty  in 
the  sphere  of  Municipal  Socialism.  But  the  hetero¬ 
geneous  character  of  the  local  administrative  bodies  was 
hardly  modified  thereby.  Greater  London  retained  its 
innumerable  vestries  and  similar  administrations,  until 
at  the  beginning  of  the  new  century  a  Bill  was  passed 
which  combined  a  number  of  the  small  vestries  or  added 
them  to  large  ones,  with  the  result  that  London  is  now 
divided  into  thirty  municipalities,  more  or  less  equal 
in  size,  the  more  important  affairs,  such  as  drainage, 
the  fire  brigade,  the  elementary  schools,  traffic,  etc., 
being  regulated  by  the  London  County  Council. 

These  newly  created  bodies  have  only  very  gradually 
affected  the  physiognomy  of  London.  In  the  year  1888 
there  was  as  yet  scarcely  anything  to  be  observed  of 
this  influence.  At  that  time  a  map  of  London,  showing 
all  its  many  parishes,  and  their  social  physiognomy,  was 
like  a  picture  of  a  counterpane  made  up  of  innumerable 
patches. 

The  parish  of  St.  Pancras,  of  which  Kentish  Town 
forms  a  part,  stretches  from  Holborn  in  the  more  central 
portion  of  London,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Highgate 
in  the  north-west.  It  undergoes  many  changes  of 
character.  In  its  southern  portion  the  houses  are  still 
built  in  the  old  style  which  was  in  vogue  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  ;  and  they 
are  so  blackened  with  smoke  that  one  realises  their  age 
at  the  first  glance.  Round  about  King’s  Cross,  where 
the  termini  of  the  Great  Northern  Railway,  the  Midland 
Railway,  and  (a  little  farther  westward)  the  North- 
Western  Railway,  are  situated,  everything  looks  black 
with  smoke,  and  there  are,  or  were,  not  a  few  streets 
which  belonged  to  the  category  of  slums — that  is,  the 
spawning-places  of  outward  and  inward  demoralisation 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


177 


and  depravity.  Lately  many  of  these  have  been  pulled 
down,  which  has  somewhat  altered  the  aspect  of  things. 
But  there  is  still  far  too  much  that  is  old  and  decayed. 
Farther  to  the  north  the  prospect  is  a  little  more  pleasing  ; 
the  houses  belong  to  the  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  with  half-basements,  airy  front  rooms,  and 
more  cheerful  windows.  Still  farther  north,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Highgate-on-the-Hill,  are  streets  with 
larger  or  smaller  gardens  before  the  houses,  which  at 
one  time  were  suburban  villas,  but  of  which  a  great 
many  have  already  suffered  the  first  step  of  social 
degradation.  This  means  that  they  are  no  longer 
inhabited  by  members  of  the  social  class  for  which 
they  were  originally  intended,  a  circumstance  which  is 
betrayed  by  many  external  signs  :  lack  of  attention 
given  to  the  front  gardens,  diminished  cleanliness  of  the 
windows,  the  different  character  of  the  window-curtains, 
and  many  like  symptoms. 

The  social  degradation  of  the  houses  is  a  process 
which  is  often  to  be  observed  in  London.  It  does  not 
affect  individual  houses,  but  whole  streets,  or  tributary 
roads.  It  takes  place  more  or  less  as  follows.  A  street 
or  a  section  of  a  street  is  laid  out,  and  houses  are  built 
for  tenants  of  the  well-to-do  middle  classes.  Family 
residences  with  a  flight  of  steps  before  the  door,  spacious 
domestic  offices  in  the  basement,  lofty  reception-rooms 
and  bedrooms  on  the  ground  floor  and  first  floor,  and  a 
wide  entrance-door.  It  is  understood,  and  often  stipu¬ 
lated,  in  the  lease,  that  no  tenant  may  sublet  rooms  or 
a  portion  of  the  house  ;  for  this  would  diminish  the 
respectability  of  the  street.  This  condition  will  be 
observed  for  years.  Then,  perhaps,  in  one  of  the 
houses,  for  one  reason  or  another,  the  family  makes  an 
exception,  disposing,  discreetly  at  first,  of  one  or  several 
rooms.  After  a  time  the  same  thing  happens  in  a 
second  house,  and  a  third.  But  although  the  sub- 
12 


178 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


letting  is  discreetly  arranged  at  first,  the  secret  cannot 
be  kept  in  the  long-run.  In  the  windows  appear  the 
tell-tale  cards  which  signify  that  “  superior  apart¬ 
ments/ ’  etc.,  are  to  be  let.  And  already  the  street  is 
not  what  it  used  to  be.  If  a  house  falls  empty  the  owner 
must  be  a  little  less  fastidious  as  to  subletting,  and  must 
frame  his  stipulations  a  little  less  strictly.  The  same 
is  true  of  the  second  and  third  removal.  The  notices 
that  apartments  are  to  let  become  more  conspicuous, 
and  the  street  ceases  to  be  regarded  as  quite  fashionable, 
even  though  it  still  preserves  a  certain  smartness.  Now 
come  tenants  who  are  less  anxious  to  live  in  a  smart 
dwelling-house  than  to  let  high-class  lodgings,  and  the 
street  gradually  becomes  a  street  of  apartment  houses. 
But  even  as  such  it  retains  its  rank  only  for  a  little 
while.  Gradually  it  loses  its  attraction  for  the  more 
solvent  lodgers,  and  with  the  class  of  lodger  the  class  of 
tenant  changes.  People  who  make  a  business  of  letting 
apartments  rent  the  houses.  They  themselves  five 
only  in  the  basement  rooms,  and  perhaps  one  or  two 
bedrooms  at  the  top  of  the  house.  All  the  other  rooms 
they  let,  and  the  house  becomes  a  lodging-house,  with 
the  lodgers  always  coming  and  going.  For  such  a 
house  is  quite  unlike  a  house  which  has  been  originally 
built  as  an  apartment  house.  The  tenants  are  obliged 
to  let  their  rooms  to  lodgers  of  all  classes ;  in  the  high, 
airy  rooms  of  the  ground  floor  and  first  floors  will  be 
found  people  of  a  very  different  class  from  those  who 
rent  the  less  lofty  rooms  of  the  upper  storeys.  Yet 
no  lodger  is  cut  off  from  the  rest  so  completely  as  in 
an  apartment-house  of  the  German  or  American  type, 
which  is  more  like  a  block  of  flats.  As  the  house  was 
intended  for  a  single  family,  there  is  nothing  on  any 
of  the  floors  to  shut  off  the  living-rooms  from  the  land¬ 
ings.  The  rooms  open  directly  on  to  the  landings  and 
passages,  and  since  in  the  better  class  of  houses  it  is 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


179 


regarded  as  improper  and  even  insulting  to  lock  one’s 
door,  one  never  loses  the  feeling,  in  a  large  house  of 
this  kind,  that  one  has  no  proper  refuge  of  one’s  own, 
but  is  living,  as  it  were,  in  a  dove-cot,  where  all  the 
doves  are  flying  in  and  out.  Here  I  speak  from  personal 
experience,  for  on  two  occasions  my  wife  and  I  were 
lodgers  in  a  house  of  this  description. 

The  idea  which  prevails  among  the  lower  classes  that 
it  is  not  respectable  to  lock  up  one’s  room  is  con¬ 
nected  with  another  characteristic  which  I  encountered 
first  when  looking  for  a  house  for  the  Sozialdemokrat ; 
and  afterwards  when  hunting  for  a  dwelling-house  for 
myself  and  my  family.  I  met  with  a  blind  confidence 
on  the  part  of  the  populace  which  I  should  least  of  all 
have  expected  to  find  in  the  vast  city  of  London.  When 
inhabited  houses  were  not  in  question,  the  houses  to  be 
let  which  we  inspected  were  absolutely  empty.  It  did 
not  pay  to  put  a  caretaker  in  charge.  If  one  called  at 
such  a  house  a  placard  affixed  to  one  of  the  windows, 
or  a  larger  announcement,  offered  the  information  that 
the  key  was  to  be  had  at  one  of  the  neighbouring  houses, 
and  this  key  was  usually  confided  to  us  without  more 
ado,  in  the  fullest  confidence.  Of  course,  there  was 
seldom  anything  left  in  the  house  that  was  worth  taking 
away,  and  a  key  is  not  a  particularly  valuable  object. 
But  it  is  not  quite  an  indifferent  matter  if  a  patent  key 
— such  as  are  the  majority  of  these  keys — is  lost  :  or 
if  some  one  makes  a  wax  impression  of  the  key  for  sub¬ 
sequent  use,  as  is  very  easily  done.  That  in  spite  of 
this  we,  as  utter  strangers,  were  always  unhesitatingly 
given  the  key  upon  demand,  in  order  that  we  might 
make  use  of  it  and  afterwards  return  it,  was  always  a 
good  deal  of  a  surprise.  And  this  is  only  an  example 
of  the  fact  that  confidence  and  honesty  are  far  more 
prevalent  among  the  population  of  London  than  one 
would  be  inclined  to  imagine  from  all  one  has  read  of 


180 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


the  thieves  of  the  capital.  In  the  same  way,  I  had 
often  occasion  to  note  that  in  England  far  fewer  docu¬ 
ments  are  needed  in  general  business  transactions  than 
I  was  accustomed  to  at  home.  The  first  occasion  when 
this  was  impressed  upon  me  occurred  some  weeks  after 
our  arrival,  in  connection  with  a  transaction  which  at 
the  same  time  revealed  to  me  an  unexpected  aspect  of 
the  English  people. 

When  my  three  fellow-exiles  and  I  were  forced  to 
leave  Switzerland  I  brought  my  nine-year-old  step¬ 
son  with  me,  while  my  wife,  with  our  little  daughter, 
who  was  two  years  younger,  had  to  remain  some  weeks 
in  Zurich,  and  then  to  stop  awhile  in  Berlin,  finally 
travelling  to  England  oversea  from  Hamburg.  For 
greater  economy  she  took  passage  on  a  cargo-vessel  of 
the  Kirsten  Line,  and  when  I  had  learned  at  the  London 
office  of  the  firm  that  the  vessel  would  stop  at  Gravesend, 
where  the  Thames  estuary  narrows  down,  in  order  to 
take  a  pilot  aboard,  I  resolved  to  go  thither  to  meet  her. 
I  obtained  the  pilot’s  address,  and  on  the  appointed  day 
I  took  the  train  in  good  time.  The  train  took  me  to 
Tilbury,  which  lies  opposite  Gravesend,  and  from  Til¬ 
bury  one  crosses  the  Thames,  which  is  here  of  a  good 
width,  in  a  ferry-boat.  On  the  way  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  some  English  card-sharpers  at  work.  Not 
long  after  the  train  started  one  of  the  passengers  sitting 
in  my  compartment  got  into  conversation  with  a  fellow- 
traveller,  drew  forth  a  few  playing-cards,  and  ex¬ 
plained  to  him  the  game  which  in  Germany  is  known  as 
Dreiblatt  or  Kummelbldttchen.  This  consists  in  detect¬ 
ing,  among  three  cards  which  the  player  shuffles  together, 
one  of  the  cards  which  has  been  selected  beforehand. 
The  passenger  accosted  tried  his  luck,  but  was  con¬ 
stantly  mistaken.  Now  another  passenger  joined  in, 
and  declared  that  if  only  the  cards  were  fairly  shuffled 
it  was  quite  impossible  to  miss  the  card  ;  he  wagered 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


181 


half  a  crown  that  he  would  find  it  every  time.  So 
saying,  he  staked  the  coin,  and  lost  !  Now  he  became 
excited,  demanded  another  trial,  and  won  once,  twice, 
thrice  ;  whereupon  the  man  first  accosted  plucked  up 
courage  to  wager  half  a  crown,  and  he,  too,  won.  He 
became  more  cheerful,  and  made  further  bets,  as  did 
the  other,  and  although  they  lost  now  and  again  they 
nevertheless  had  remarkable  luck,  so  that  the  player 
had  often  to  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  in  order 
to  cover  fresh  bets.  In  the  meantime,  apparently 
attracted  by  the  loud  voices  and  the  chinking  of  the 
money,  a  traveller  in  the  next  compartment  of  the  old- 
fashioned  carriage  was  watching  the  game  over  the 
partition.  His  comments  grew  louder  and  louder,  and 
finally  he,  too,  tried  his  luck  with  equally  good  results, 
until,  at  the  last  station  on  the  outskirts  of  London, 
the  train  emptied,  and  besides  myself  there  remained 
only  a  gentleman  who  had  taken  as  little  part  in  the 
game  as  I  had.  I  had  already  read  too  much  of  card- 
sharpers  to  be  in  doubt  for  a  moment  as  to  the  character 
of  the  game,  and  had  feigned  absolute  indifference  to  it, 
appearing  to  gaze  out  of  the  window.  But  now  I  risked 
a  remark,  saying  to  my  vis-a-vis  :  ‘  *  Those  three  men  were 
swindlers  !  ”  to  which  he  answered  :  “  All  four  belong 
to  the  same  gang  ”  ;  that  is,  the  man  in  the  next  com¬ 
partment  was  a  confederate.  The  general  public  was 
quite  alive  to  the  nature  of  the  game,  and  I  wondered 
why  the  four  rogues  had  risked  their  fares,  and  how 
they  dared  carry  on  their  swindling  so  openly.  The 
moment  I  or  any  other  uninitiated  person  had  been 
induced  to  bet  upon  the  finding  of  the  card  the  gambler 
would  of  course  have  indulged  in  a  little  sleight-of- 
hand. 

About  noon  I  reached  Gravesend,  and  repaired  to  the 
pilot’s  house.  His  wife,  who  opened  the  door  to  me, 
informed  me  that  her  husband  had  gone  out,  but  invited 


182 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


me  to  enter,  in  a  friendly  manner,  in  order  to  wait  for 
him  in  her  sittirfg-room.  I  hesitated  a„  moment ;  but 
the  weather  was  certainly  gloomy,  so  I  took  advantage 
of  her  offer,  when  she  led  me  into  a  very  well-furnished 
room,  and  gave  me  a  number  of  albums  and  volumes  of 
illustrated  papers  to  look  through.  After  a  while  the 
pilot  himself  arrived,  and  informed  me,  when  I  had  ex¬ 
plained  the  object  of  my  call,  that  the  vessel,  which  ought 
to  arrive  at  two  in  the  afternoon,  was  already  signalled, 
but  would  not  be  in  before  seven  in  the  evening,  as  there 
had  been  a  very  rough  sea.  He  was  quite  prepared  to 
take  me  with  him  then  ;  I  was  to  meet  him  at  a  spot  on 
the  river-bank  which  he  described  more  exactly.  I 
thanked  him,  and  was  about  to  leave,  when  he  asked 
me  whether  I  knew  the  locality.  ‘‘No,”  I  replied  ;  “I 
am  quite  a  stranger  here/’  “  But  how  will  you  spend 
the  time,  then  ?  ”  he  asked.  “  I  really  don’t  quite 
know  ;  I  shall  see  about  taking  a  walk  in  the  neighbour¬ 
hood.  Perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  recommend  me 
where  to  go  ?  ”  He  considered  a  moment,  and  then 
told  me  that  at  an  hour’s  walk  from  Gravesend — or  a 
stranger  could  get  there  safely  and  conveniently  by 
tram — was  a  large  pleasure  resort,  Rosherville  Gardens, 
where  I  should  best  be  able  to  pass  the  time.  This  was 
an  idea,  so  I  thanked  him  and  took  my  leave. 

My  thanks  were  sincere.  The  man  had  made  an 
excellent  impression  on  me.  There  was  nothing  in¬ 
sincere  about  him,  nothing  consequential,  and  while  he 
had  evinced  a  certain  interest,  which  struck  me  as  quite 
proper,  he  was  far  from  being  intrusive.  The  establish¬ 
ment  to  which  he  had  directed  me  might  well  repay  a 
visit  in  fine  weather.  A  vast  garden,  with  fine  pleasure- 
grounds  and  extensive  fair-grounds,  where  there  were 
arrangements  for  every  possible  amusement  and  pas¬ 
time  :  swings,  switch-back  railways,  roundabouts, 
shooting-galleries,  Aunt  Sallies,  “  try-your-strength  ” 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


183 


machines,  and  many  similar  diversions.  But  since  it  was 
a  working  day,  and  bad  weather  into  the  bargain,  there 
was  no  crowd  to  enliven  it  all,  and  all  the  amusements 
offered  were  provided  for  me  alone.  So  I  wandered, 
somewhat  restlessly,  through  the  pleasure-grounds, 
rejoicing  in  the  flowers  of  all  sorts  that  grew  there, 
and  admired  a  steep  and  fairly  lofty  wall  of  rock-work, 
at  the  end  of  the  garden  adjoining  the  river,  which  was 
overgrown  with  climbing  plants,  while  from  the  top  of 
the  wall  one  enjoyed  a  fine  panorama.  Earlier  than  was 
necessary  I  returned  to  Gravesend,  and  repaired  to  the 
appointed  meeting-place  beside  the  river. 

It  was  a  lonely  landing-place  ;  the  only  human  beings 
to  be  seen  were  a  few  workmen,  busy  over  some  sort  of  a 
job.  One  of  them  asked  me  if  I  was  looking  for  any  one. 
I  explained  my  business,  whereupon  they  showed  me, 
unasked,  all  sorts  of  attentions,  which,  after  all  I  had 
read  of  the  English,  I  should  never  in  the  least  have 
expected  of  such  men.  To  begin  with,  having  seen  me 
standing  for  some  time  alone  on  the  bank,  two  of  them 
dragged  up  a  bench,  and  invited  me  to  be  seated.  Then, 
as  a  slight  drizzle  set  in.  one  of  them  brought  me  a 
tarpaulin.  When  the  rain  began  to  fall  more  heavily 
they  invited  me  to  take  my  place  on  a  covered  scaffold¬ 
ing,  which  had  evidently  been  erected  as  a  look-out  in 
stormy  weather.  Then,  after  some  little  time,  they 
asked  me  whether  I  would  not  like  to  go  to  a  restaurant 
and  get  some  food  ;  the  vessel  was  not  yet  in  sight,  and 
when  she  was,  one  of  them  would  fetch  me.  At  first  I 
declined  ;  but  as  after  a  time  one  of  them  once  more 
came  up  to  me  and  explained  that  I  could  still  go  and 
get  a  quiet  meal,  and  that  I  could  certainly  trust  them 
for  the  rest,  it  seemed  to  me  impolite  to  refuse  the 
offer,  so  my  interlocutor  led  me  into  a  street  where  there 
were  several  eating-houses  and  restaurants,  left  me  to 
make  my  choice,  and  thereupon  took  his  leave,  assuring 


184 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


me  once  more  that  I  should  be  fetched  in  good  time. 
He  kept  his  word.  About  nine  o’clock — so  late  had  it 
become  in  the  meantime — I  was  called  for,  and  found 
the  pilot  on  the  bank.  He  bade  me  get  aboard  his  boat, 
and  took  me  out  to  the  vessel,  which  we  boarded,  in  the 
most  profound  darkness,  by  means  of  a  rope  ladder 
which  was  let  down  to  us.  I  begged  one  of  the  workmen, 
who  had  come  with  us  in  order  to  take  back  the  boat, 
to  give  his  comrades  my  warmest  thanks,  and  had 
some  trouble  to  persuade  him  to  accept  a  token  of  my 
gratitude. 

The  vessel  reached  London  after  midnight,  but  could 
not  take  up  her  berth,  as  in  the  meantime  the  ebb  had 
set  in.  We  had  to  camp  out  on  board  for  the  night,  and 
it  was  morning  when  we  were  able  to  step  ashore  on  St. 
Katherine’s  Wharf.  I  left  the  trunk  which  contained  a 
great  part  of  the  family’s  clothes  and  linen  in  a  little 
carrier’s  office  opposite  the  wharf,  to  be  forwarded,  and 
then  put  my  wife  and  daughter  into  an  omnibus  which 
took  us  all  direct  to  our  lodgings.  When  we  arrived  there 
we  suddenly  discovered  that  we  had  no  luggage  receipt  ! 
Bewilderment,  bordering  upon  horror  !  Now  we  should 
never  recover  our  things  !  What  was  to  be  done  ?  I 
set  off  to  drive  the  long  weary  way  from  Regent’s  Park, 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  which  I  had  secured  temporary 
quarters,  back  to  St.  Katherine’s  Wharf.  In  the  carrier’s 
office  I  found  an  elderly  man,  and  made  my  plight 
known  to  him.  I  had  arrived  by  steamer  that  morning 
and  had  left  a  large  black  trunk  in  the  office,  giving  my 
address.  The  man  looked  in  his  book.  “  That’s 
correct,”  he  said.  “  The  trunk  was  given  in  here  as  you 
say.”  “Yes,”  I  observed,  “  but  I  was  not  given  a 
receipt !  ”  “A  receipt  ?  What  do  you  want  a  receipt 
for  ?  ”  he  retorted.  “  Well,  one  has  something  to  show 
when  one  gives  up  one’s  luggage,”  was  my  answer. 
Indignantly  he  repeated  that  the  trunk  was  entered  in 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


185 


his  book,  and  that  that  was  enough.  To  give  a  receipt 
for  it  was  superfluous,  and  no  one  would  ask  to  see  it. 
“  That  may  satisfy  others,”  I  said,  “  but  I  am  accus¬ 
tomed  to  receive  a  written  statement  in  such  cases. 
Please  be  so  obliging  as  to  give  me  one.”  He  hesitated. 
“  I  will  willingly  pay  for  it,”  I  added.  Even  that  did  not 
fetch  him  at  first.  But  at  last  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
persuaded,  and  wrote  me  the  desired  receipt,  assuredly 
not  without  reflecting  what  crazy  fellows  these  Germans 
were.  For  that  matter,  I  fancy  I  have  often  given  the 
English  occasion  for  this  reflection,  not  always  without 
some  suspicion  of  the  fact.  Occasionally  I  have  been 
guilty  of  disregarding  the  national  customs  while  fully 
conscious  that  the  natives  would  regard  me  as  a  crazy 
foreigner,  and  when  my  attention  has  been  called  to  this 
result  of  my  behaviour  I  have  given  an  answer  similar  to 
that  of  the  sturdy  imbecile,  who,  when  taken  to  task 
because  he  allowed  his  delicate  little  wife  to  beat  him, 
quickly  replied  :  “  Well,  well,  it  gives  her  pleasure,  and 
it  doesn’t  hurt  me.” 

However,  these  were  always  cases  in  which  no  one’s 
reasonable  feelings  were  hurt,  and  in  which  I  could 
assure  myself,  after  full  consideration,  that  the  national 
custom  was  due  to  some  unreasonable  prejudice,  or  that 
its  rational  explanation  was  based  upon  some  long- 
forgotten  opinion.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  no  such  pre¬ 
judice  was  in  question.  To  the  man  in  the  carrier’s 
office  his  day-book  was  a  record,  and  from  the  moment 
when  the  trunk,  with  the  correct  address,  was  entered  in 
the  book,  there  was,  according  to  his  practical  experience, 
no  longer  any  need  of  making  out  an  individual  receipt. 

In  the  same  way,  no  luggage  receipts  are  given  on  the 
railways,  in  connection  with  the  transport  of  passengers’ 
luggage.  If  one  turns  up  at  a  railway  station  with 
luggage  which  cannot  be  taken  into  the  carriage  with 
one,  it  is  given  to  a  porter,  who  puts  it  on  his  little 


186 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


trolley,  takes  it  along  to  the  luggage-van,  and  there 
unloads  it.  On  arriving  at  one’s  destination  one  goes 
to  the  luggage-van,  points  out  one’s  luggage  as  the  van 
is  being  unloaded,  to  a  porter,  who  will  carry  it  on  his 
shoulder  or  load  it  on  his  two-  or  four-wheeled  trolley, 
and  leaves  it  to  him  to  bring  it  to  the  station  exit.  This 
is  done  without  any  further  expense  than  a  tip  to  the 
porter,  and,  as  I  have  said,  without  any  luggage  receipt: 
For  Germans  coming  to  England  for  the  first  time  this 
seems  an  almost  uncanny  state  of  affairs.  Professor 
Karl  Schorlemmer,  who  was  Henry  Roscoe’s  collaborator 
in  his  great  Handbook  of  Chemistry ,  and  an  intimate 
friend  of  Marx  and  Engels,  described  to  us,  in  1891,  in  a 
very  droll  manner,  how  bewildered  his  German  colleagues 
were,  when  on  travelling  from  London  to  the  Inter¬ 
national  Scientific  Congress  in  Edinburgh  they  were 
obliged  to  entrust  their  luggage  to  the  railway  without 
the  accustomed  receipt.  “  Make  your  minds  easy,” 
he  told  them,  “  your  luggage  is  safer  here  than  in  the 
Fatherland.”  But  they  would  not  believe  him  until 
experience  had  assuaged  their  anxiety.  It  once  happened 
to  me,  on  returning  to  London  from  the  South  Coast, 
that  the  porter,  instead  of  putting  my  luggage  into  the 
van  for  Victoria  (the  terminus  for  the  west  of  London), 
put  it  into  some  other  luggage-van.  Unfortunately,  I 
had  neglected  to  provide  the  trunk,  which  bore  no  other 
distinguishing  mark,  with  even  so  much  as  a  label 
giving  my  name  and  address.  All  I  could  do,  when  I 
discovered,  at  the  terminus,  that  the  trunk  was  not  in 
the  train,  was  to  describe  its  size  and  colour  to  an  official 
to  whom  I  was  directed.  But  although  the  thing 
happened  on  a  day  of  unusually  congested  traffic, — that 
is,  at  the  end  of  the  holidays,  when  parents  were  return¬ 
ing  from  their  summer  outing  with  their  children,  who 
were  going  back  to  school, — the  trunk  was  safely  delivered 
at  my  house  on  the  following  day.  Matters  could  not 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


187 


have  gone  better  in  the  land  of  the  most  meticulous 
rules  and  regulations. 

That  year  we  spent,  for  the  first  time,  a  few  weeks  on 
the  South  Coast ;  as  a  matter  of  fact  at  Eastbourne,  not 
far  from  Brighton.  This  very  charming  town  is  regarded 
as  one  of  the  most  select  watering-places  in  England  ; 
but  we  were  assured  that  we  could  manage  there  with 
quite  moderate  means,  and  we  found  that  this  was  so. 
In  the  eastern  part  of  this  town  of  over  30,000  inhabi¬ 
tants  we  found  lodgings  for  ourselves  and  our  two 
children,  consisting  of  two  bedrooms,  and  including  the 
use  of  the  sitting-room,  service,  and  the  preparation  of 
our  meals,  for  a  guinea  a  week.  According  to  the 
general  custom  in  English  watering-places,  we  bought 
our  food  ourselves,  or  gave  orders  that  it  should  be 
bought  ;  but  the  landlady  saw  to  the  cooking  of  break¬ 
fast,  midday  dinner,  and  supper  according  to  our  wishes, 
laid  the  table  in  the  sitting-room,  and  sent  up  the  courses 
by  her  servant. 

English  cookery,  as  we  know,  is  essentially  unlike 
Continental  cookery,  and  dispenses  with  many  incentives 
to  appetite.  To  philosophise  over  the  matter,  one  might 
regard  it  as  the  antithesis  of  the  ingenious  cookery  of  the 
French,  which  is  distinguished  by  its  variety  ;  and  if  we 
acknowledge  this  as  specifically  synthetic,  then  we  may 
describe  the  English  cookery  as  crudely  empirical. 
However,  one  need  not  necessarily  think  of  half-raw 
beefsteaks.  Many  things  are  quite  fully  cooked  in 
England.  But  the  leading  idea  in  English  cookery  is 
that  the  character  or  individual  savour  of  the  food 
should  be  as  far  as  possible  preserved,  while  the  mixing 
of  the  food  with  supplementary  condiments  is  left  to  the 
individual  consumer  as  he  sits  at  table.  Those  who  do 
not  like  the  condiments  with  which  the  table  is  usually 
provided  for  this  purpose,  and  which  are  often  very 
pungent,  will  have  to  put  up  with  the  comparative 


188 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


monotony  of  English  cookery.  Yet  this  cookery  is  not 
without  its  advantages ;  the  only  difficulty  for  the 
foreigner  coming  to  England  is  to  discover  them  and 
duly  profit  by  them.  This  should  not  be  very  difficult 
for  the  Germans,  whose  native  cookery  exhibits  a  more 
or  less  comprehensive  eclecticism. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

In  England  there  was  much  more  freedom  than  I  had 
supposed  in  the  matter  of  bathing,  and  of  bathing-places 
in  particular.  Of  course,  in  the  fashionable  part  of  the 
great  walk  and  drive  along  the  seashore,  which  every 
watering-place  possesses,  and  which  with  us  is  called 
the  promenade,  but  in  England,  as  a  rule,  the  parade, 
certain  rules  of  decency  prevail,  the  infringement  of 
which  would  be  regarded  as  scandalous.  But  other¬ 
wise  every  one  may  order  his  life  and  pleasures  as  best 
suits  him  ;  only  he  must  not  make  himself  a  nuisance 
to  other  people.  On  the  beach  itself  all  sorts  of  enter¬ 
tainments  are  offered  to  the  public  :  from  acrobats  of 
every  kind,  and  nigger  minstrels  who  play  comic 
dialogues  and  sing  the  latest  popular  songs,  with  the 
audience  joining  in  the  refrain,  to  wandering  preachers 
of  one  or  another  denomination,  who  at  one  time 
endeavour  to  convert  the  public  that  gathers  round  their 
“  pitch,”  and  at  another  hold  open-air  services  or  sing 
hymns,  there  is  something  to  please  every  one’s  taste. 
Bathing  is  possible  only  at  certain  states  of  the  tide,  and 
along  the  parade  is  allowed  only  from  bathing-machines. 
The  price  for  the  use  of  a  machine  was  more  than  my 
means  would  justify  my  paying,  so  that  I  should  have 
had  to  dispense  with  bathing  at  Eastbourne  if  I  had 
not  had  the  opportunity  of  doing  so  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  parade. 

To  the  east  of  a  tower,  since  pulled  down,  by  which 
the  parade  came  to  an  end,  I  found,  almost  the  first  time 
I  went  on  a  journey  of  exploration,  a  wide  stretch  of 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


189 


beach  by  the  water’s  edge,  where  a  fair  number  of  people 
were  sitting  or  lying  on  the  shingle  ;  a  notice-board, 
at  least  six  feet  wide,  affixed  to  two  tall  posts,  informed 
me  in  large  letters  that  bathing  was  not  allowed  here. 
To  my  great,  yet  not  disagreeable  surprise,  I  perceived, 
upon  approaching,  that  people  were  nevertheless  bathing 
in  that  very  place.  In  all  peace  and  comfort  adults 
and  children,  who  had  left  their  clothes  on  the  beach, 
were  disporting  themselves  in  the  water,  and  no  one 
said  them  nay.  One  could  see  that  the  spectacle  was 
by  no  means  an  unaccustomed  one  to  the  recumbent 
public.  To  my  questions  whether  people  often  bathed 
there,  I  received  the  answer  :  “  Every  day,  when  the 
weather  permits.”  On  the  very  next  day  I  was  among 
the  “  free  ”  bathers,  and  during  the  rest  of  my  visit 
to  the  seaside  I  took  the  opportunity  of  becoming 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  Thetis. 

Once  only  while  bathing  there  I  made  the  acquaint¬ 
ance  of  a  coastguard.  It  was  a  very  rough  day  ;  the 
waves  were  pretty  high  on  the  beach,  and  the  “  free  ” 
bathing-place  was  empty.  I  was  seized  by  the  desire 
for  once  to  bathe  in  a  rough  sea.  I  went  fairly  close  to 
the  water’s  edge  with  my  son,  then  ten  years  old,  and 
we  began  to  undress.  Suddenly  a  coastguard  stood 
beside  me.  “  Can  you  swim  ?  ”  “  Yes  !  ”  “  Can  the 

youngster  swim  ?  ”  “No.”  “  Then  you  can  bathe, 

but  not  the  youngster.”  “  Thank  you,  sir  !  ”  That 
was  the  whole  of  our  conversation.  But  my  dealings 
with  Dame  Thetis  were  not  much  longer  on  that  par¬ 
ticular  day.  When,  ready  for  my  dip,  I  approached 
the  water  and  considered  the  breakers  more  closely,  I 
saw  at  once  that  swimming  was  not  going  to  be  of  much 
help  to  me.  The  wind  was  blowing  hard  from  the  west. 
I  concluded  to  swim  straight  against  it  as  far  as  possible, 
so  that  on  coming  out  I  could  land  at  the  same  point 
at  which  I  had  left  the  beach.  No  sooner  said  than 


190 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


done — or  rather  not  done.  To  be  sure,  I  threw  myself, 
as  I  had  intended,  into  the  water  ;  but  after  the  fourth 
stroke  I  had  to  turn  about,  for  I  felt  a  violent  tendency 
to  sea-sickness.  At  every  stroke  I  must  have  swallowed 
a  good  deal  of  sea-water.  Instead  of  landing  where  I 
entered  the  water,  I  was  thrown  up  on  the  beach  at 
least  forty  yards  to  the  east  of  it.  One  could  scarcely 
speak  of  swimming  in  connection  with  my  return.  I 
had  to  surrender  myself  helplessly  to  the  storm,  and 
once  ashore  crept  painfully  up  on  to  the  dry  beach, 
overwhelmed  at  intervals  by  the  visiting-cards  flung 
after  me  by  the  tossing  element,  which  continually 
dragged  me  back  a  little  way.  As  the  beach  at  East¬ 
bourne  consists  not  of  sand  but  of  shingle,  the  process 
was  not  entirely  painless.  For  my  thoughtlessness  I 
had  received  a  punishment  which,  though  by  no  means 
unendurable,  was  quite  severe  enough  to  last  me  for 
some  time. 

But  how  is  the  tolerance  of  the  coastguard  or  coast¬ 
guards  to  be  reconciled  with  the  great  notice  to  the  effect 
that  bathing  was  “  not  allowed  ”  in  that  place  ?  This 
has  never  been  quite  clear  to  me.  It  is  possible  that 
the  people  of  Eastbourne  actively  enforced  the  right  of 
bathing  in  contravention  of  the  order,  as  such  incidents 
are  not  rare  in  England.  In  1866,  for  example,  at 
the  time  of  the  second  great  suffrage  campaign,  the 
London  democracy  actively  enforced  the  right  of  using 
Hyde  Park  for  demonstrations,  and  on  this  occasion  tore 
down  the  iron  railings  which  had  until  then  surrounded 
the  most  fashionable  park  in  the  capital.  The  railings 
were  not  set  up  again,  and  a  particular  part  of  Hyde 
Park  has  since  then  been  the  recognised  meeting-place 
for  very  large  demonstrations.  Another  instance 
occurred  in  connection  with  one  of  the  largest  theatres 
in  London.  When  Henry  Irving  was  manager  of  the 
Lyceum  be  bethought  himself  one  day  of  offering  the 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


191 


visitors  to  the  pit  of  his  theatre  a  convenience.  He  had 
the  seats  numbered,  so  that  the  playgoers  who  sat  in 
the  pit  need  no  longer  struggle  for  their  seats.  But  he 
did  not  know  his  public.  On  the  very  first  evening 
when  the  new  arrangements  were  to  be  tried,  he  was 
greeted,  when  he  appeared,  with  a  general  “  Hullo  !  ” 
from  the  pit,  accompanied  by  hissing  and  booing.  He 
advanced  to  the  footlights  and  called  out  to  those  in 
the  pit  :  "  Are  not  the  new  arrangements  agreeable  to 
you  ?  ”  “  No  !  ”  came  the  answer  as  from  a  single 

throat.  "  Do  you  wish  to  go  back  to  the  old  arrange¬ 
ments  ?  ”  "Yes,”  was  the  equally  unanimous  reply. 
“  Very  well,  then,  you  shall  have  them  again.”  On  the 
following  day  the  new  arrangements  were  done  away 
with,  and  so  far  as  my  memory  serves  me  the  old  ones 
are  still  in  force. 

But  to  return  to  the  “  free  ”  bathing  at  Eastbourne  : 
it  may  be  that  the  notice  which  declared  that  bathing 
was  not  allowed  forbade  it  merely  to  ensure  that  every 
one  who  bathed  there  did  so  at  his  own  risk.  Examples 
may  be  cited  in  support  of  such  an  explanation.  A 
prohibition  of  this  kind  has  to  be  extremely  positive 
before  the  Englishman  will  accept  it  as  unconditionally 
binding  upon  him  in  matters  of  this  sort.  At  the  East 
Coast  watering-places,  which  I  often  visited  later,  and 
which  are  preferred  by  many  English  people,  because 
the  sea-breezes  are  fresher  there,  I  have  not,  as  a  rule, 
seen  any  such  notices. 

To  the  west  of  Eastbourne  the  cliffs  along  the  coast 
gradually  rise  until  they  form  the  great  chalky  headland 
of  Beachy  Head,  nearly  six  hundred  feet  in  height. 
Overgrown  with  grass  on  the  top,  it  slopes  gently  at 
first,  and  then  suddenly  falls  steeply  to  the  water,  while 
down  below  it  exhibits  all  manner  of  recesses  and  out¬ 
lying  masses.  From  the  landward  side  an  extremely 
fine  drive  leads  up  to  the  summit.  Enterprising  visitors 


192 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


have  repeatedly  attempted  to  climb  Beachy  Head  from 
the  beach  at  low  tide,  whereby  many  have  nearly  lost 
their  lives.  If  they  were  unable  to  reach  the  top,  and 
the  tide  rose  in  the  meantime,  they  were  left  between 
the  devil  and  the  deep  sea.  From  the  coastguard  station , 
which  stands  at  the  highest  point  of  the  Head,  it  is 
impossible  to  see  what  is  happening  on  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  nor  will  a  call  for  help  carry  thither.  Only  if  he  is 
noticed  from  the  direction  of  the  sea  can  the  climber 
count  upon  help. 

About  five  or  six  miles  off  Beachy  Head,  in  the  year 
1895,  the  Avelings,  the  old  Communist  Leaguer  Friedrich 
Lessner,  and  myself,  on  a  very  rough  day  of  autumn, 
cast  into  the  sea  the  urn  containing  the  ashes  of  our 
Friedrich  Engels.  Engels,  who  died  on  the  8th  of 
August  1895,  had  directed,  in  a  letter  enclosed  with  his 
will,  that  his  body  should  be  cremated  and  the  ashes 
thrown  into  the  sea.  And  since  we  knew  of  his  pre¬ 
dilection  for  delightful  Eastbourne,  the  sea  off  Beachy 
Head  was  chosen  as  the  most  suitable  spot  for  the 
execution  of  this  portion  of  his  last  will  and  testament. 
Since  then,  however,  the  impression  has  gained  a  hold 
upon  me  that  this  disposition  of  his  ashes  may  perhaps 
have  been  dictated  by  another  motive  than  his  love  of 
Eastbourne  and  the  sea.  The  idea  of  Lethe  may  have 
been  in  his  mind.  The  letter  was  written  shortly  before 
Engels’  death,  and  the  last  year  of  the  loyal  brother- 
in-arms  of  Karl  Marx  had  been  saddened  by  a  conflict 
which  did  not  indeed  immediately  concern  Engels,  but 
in  the  course  of  which  things  came  to  pass  that  must 
have  affected  him  deeply.  The  sociable  evenings  which 
we  had  spent  in  his  house  were  robbed  of  the  cheerful 
humour  which  had  always  characterised  them  months 
before  his  last  serious  illness. 

Engels’  had  been  a  hospitable  house.  On  Sundays 
his  political  and  personal  friends  were  expected,  when- 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


193 


ever  they  had  time,  to  spend  the  evening  with  him,  and 
there  was  almost  always  quite  a  respectable  party  of 
guests  of  various  nationalities.  As  there  were  inter¬ 
esting  personalities  among  them,  I  shall  devote  a  special 
chapter  to  them.  The  talk  on  these  evenings  was 
unrestrained.  Serious  subjects  were  indeed  touched 
upon,  but  did  not  constitute  the  exclusive  subject- 
matter  of  our  conversation.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
jesting,  and  we  were  always  grateful  if  any  guest  would 
sing  a  song,  serious  or  cheerful,  and  the  good  Bordeaux 
which  Engels  favoured  saw  to  it  that  we  were  in  the 
right  humour.  The  more  lively  we  became,  the  more 
plainly  did  our  host’s  features  betray  his  inward  satis¬ 
faction,  and  many  a  time  he  would  even  send  for  cham¬ 
pagne,  and  himself  strike  up  one  of  the  old  students’ 
songs,  such  as  were  sung  in  his  youth.  Of  English  songs 
he  conceived  a  particular  affection  for  the  old  popular 
political  song,  "  The  Vicar  of  Bray.” 

In  this  song,  which  dates  from  the  early  part  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  a  clergyman  relates  how  he  altered 
his  ecclesiastical  and  political  opinions  with  every  change 
of  government  that  occurred  between  1685  to  1715, 
in  order  to  retain  his  living.  Taking  the  song  as  one’s 
authority  one  can  learn  by  heart  quite  a  deal  of  English 
constitutional  history.  It  begins  with  the  “  golden 
time  ”  of  “  Good  King  Charles  ”  the  Second,  and  ends 
with  the  accession  of  the  Guelph  George  the  First.  The 
refrain  throughout  is  : 

“  For  this  is  law,  that  I’ll  maintain 
Until  my  dying  day,  Sir, 

IThat  whatsoever  King  may  reign 
I’ll  be  the  Vicar  of  Bray,  Sir.” 

Under  Charles  11.  the  good  man  preached  the  absolute 
grace  of  God  and  the  doctrines  of  the  English  High 
Church.  Under  James  11.  he  was  all  for  toleration  in 
respect  of  the  Catholics,  looked  kindly  upon  the  Romish 

13 


194 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Church,  and  “  had  become  a  Jesuit,  but  for  the  Revolu¬ 
tion  ”  (of  1688).  Under  William  ill.  he  taught  a  manly  ' 
pride  in  respect  of  the  throne  : 

!“  Passive  obedience  was  a  joke, 

A  jest  was  non-resistance.” 

With  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  he  became  a  Tory, 
and  rejected  all  sophistries  connected  with  the  dogma 
of  the  State  Church.  Finally,  when  George  1.  came  to 
England  “  in  pudding  time  ”  and  the  Whigs  became 
all-powerful,  he  became,  with  them,  an  advocate  of 
“  moderation  ”  and  daily  forswore  “the  Pope  and  the 
Pretender.’ ’  Now  he  will  remainun  changeably  loyal  to 
the  “  illustrious  house  of  Hanover  ” — “  while  they  can 
keep  possession.” 

Engels  had  translated  this  song  into  German  verse 
for  the  Social  Democratic  Song-Book  Vorwarts  (Zurich, 
1886).  Some  verses  were  extremely  successful ;  in 
others,  since  he  kept  to  the  English  metre,  the  greater 
prolixity  of  the  German  language  made  it  impossible  to 
reproduce  the  English  text  in  all  its  compactness.  Even 
so  brilliant  an  interpreter  as  Freiligrath  failed  now  and 
then  to  achieve  this  compactness  in  many  of  his  German 
versions  of  the  songs  of  Robert  Burns,  masterly  as  they 
were  in  general. 

The  refrain  of  “  The  Vicar  of  Bray  ”  sounded  very 
well  in  Engels’  version  : 

"  Denn  dieses  gilt  und  hat  Bestand, 

Bis  an  mein  End  soil’s  wahr  sein  : 

Dass,  wer  auch  Konig  sei  im  Land, 

In  Bray  will  ich  Vikar  sein.” 

And  the  spirit  of  the  last  verse  is  excellently  pre¬ 
served  : 

“  Hannovers  hoher  Dynastie 
(Mit  Ausschluss  von  Papisten), 

Der  schwor  ich  Treu — solange  sie 
Sich  an  dem  Thron  kann  fristen. 


LONDON  PECULIARITIES 


195 


Denn  meine  Treu  wankt  nimmermehr 
(Veranderung  ausgenommen), 

Und  Georg  sei  mein  Fiirst  und  Herr — 

Bis  and  ere  Zeiten  kommen.” 

Herewith  we  will  take  our  leave  of  this  classic  re¬ 
presentative  of  the  turncoat,  and  to  conclude  with  we 
will  take  an  old  drinking-song,  to  which  Sam  Moore,  the 
friend  of  Engels  and  Marx,  and  the  joint  translator  of 
Marx’s  Capital  into  English,  would  often  treat  us. 
It  deals  with  “  three  jolly  postboys,”  who  sit  in  the 
Dragon  Inn  and  empty  “  many  a  flagon.”  It  is  in  the 
true  spirit  of  "  Merry  England  ”  : 

“  Wer  guten  Wein  hat 
Und  doch  sich  nuchtern  halt, 

1st  wie  das  diirre  Laub 

Das  im  Herbst  zu  Boden  fallt.” 

And  the  refrain  goes  thus  : 

“  Komm,  Schankwirt,  giess  die  Becher  voll, 

Bis  zum  fjberlaufen, 

Heute  wollen  wir  frohlich  sein, 

Heute  wollen  wir  frohlich  sein, 

Heute  wollen  wir  frohlich  sein, 

Und  morgen  Wasser  saufen.” 


CHAPTER  IX 


ENGELS'  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ” 

ENGELS  was  not  only  democratic  in  his 
opinions ;  he  was  thoroughly  democratic  in 
feeling  as  well.  His  manner  of  living  showed 
in  many  characteristic  ways  that  he  came  from  a 
good  middle-class  home,  but  he  had  chosen  a  girl  of 
the  lower  middle  classes  as  his  life's  companion  ;  and 
in  the  choice  of  his  associates  he  recognised  no  class  dis¬ 
tinctions.  At  the  same  time  he  did  draw  distinctions. 
Those  who  wished  to  be  invited  to  his  social  evenings 
must  either  have  done  good  service  in  the  Socialist  cause, 
or  must  be  of  some  consequence  intellectually.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  Socialists  they  need  not  necessarily  be 
Marxists.  In  this  respect  there  was  little  of  the  pedant 
about  the  co-founder  of  the  Marxist  school.  Even 
Socialists  who  were  not  Social  Democrats  were  tolerated. 
Dr.  Rudolph  Meyer,  the  friend  of  Karl  Robertus,  a 
Socialist-Conservative,  and  formerly  the  publisher  of 
the  Berliner  Revue ,  was  often  among  the  guests  at 
Engels'  house,  during  the  time  of  his  stay  in  London. 
His  passports  were  his  expert  knowledge  in  the  sphere  of 
political  economy,  and  the  circumstance  that  he  was 
living  in  exile,  having  been  persecuted  by  Bismarck. 
As  a  good  East-Elber  he  was  no  enemy  to  alcohol,  and 
one  evening  at  Engels’  he  drank  a  regular  skinful.  It 
was  extremely  droll ;  quite  conscious  of  his  condition, 
he  kept  on  shouting,  in  a  slightly  thickened  voice  : 
“  Well,  well,  if  any  one  had  ever  told  me  that  I,  a  Prussian 

196 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  197 


Conservative,  should  one  day,  here  in  London,  be  made 
squiffy  by  the  Revolutionary  Communists  !  ”  This  was 
on  Christmas  Eve,  and  then,  to  be  sure,  such  things 
might  well  befall  one  in  Engels’  house. 

Christmas  was  kept  by  Engels  after  the  English 
fashion,  as  Charles  Dickens  has  so  delightfully  described 
it  in  The  Pickwick  Papers.  The  room  is  decorated  with 
green  boughs  of  every  kind,  between  which,  in  suitable 
places,  the  perfidious  mistletoe  peeps  forth,  which  gives 
every  man  the  right  to  kiss  any  person  of  the  opposite 
sex  who  is  standing  beneath  it  or  whom  he  can  catch 
in  passing.  At  table  the  principal  dish  is  a  mighty 
turkey,  and  if  the  exchequer  will  run  to  it  this  is  supple¬ 
mented  by  a  great  cooked  ham.  A  few  additional 
attractions — one  of  which,  a  sweet  known  as  tipsy-cake, 
is,  as  the  name  denotes,  prepared  with  brandy  or  sherry — 
make  way  for  the  dish  of  honour,  the  plum-pudding, 
which  is  served  up,  the  room  having  been  darkened, 
with  burning  rum.  Each  guest  must  receive  his  helping 
of  pudding,  liberally  christened  with  good  spirits,  before 
the  flame  dies  out.  This  lays  a  foundation  which  may 
well  prove  hazardous  to  those  who  do  not  measure  their 
consumption  of  the  accompanying  wines. 

In  this  connection  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  an 
evening  at  Engels’  which  preceded  the  Christmas  cele¬ 
brations.  It  was  on  the  day  when  the  dough,  or  rather 
paste,  for  the  Christmas  puddings  was  prepared.  An 
enormous  quantity  was  made,  for  there  was  not  a  single 
friend  of  the  house  who  did  not  receive  a  Christmas 
pudding  from  122  Regent’s  Park  Road.  Professor  Karl 
Schorlemmer,  Engels’  medical  adviser,  Dr.  Gumpert 
of  Manchester,  friend  Sam  Moore  in  Yorkshire,  the  old 
Chartist,  Julian  Harney  in  Jersey,  Peter  Lavroff,  the 
honoured  leader  of  the  Russian  Socialists,  as  well  as 
Marx’s  sons-in-law,  Paul  Lafargue  and  Charles  Longuet 
in  Paris,  various  intimate  friends  in  London,  and,  if  I 


198 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


am  not  mistaken,  some  friends  in  Germany  as  well, 
were  always  remembered.  Hence,  on  a  given  day,  about 
a  fortnight  before  Christmas,  the  lady  friends  of  the 
house  turned  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  worked  on 
until  the  evening,  chopping  great  heaps  of  apples,  nuts, 
almonds,  candied  peel,  etc.,  into  little  bits,  and  stoning 
and  chopping  pounds  upon  pounds  of  raisins  ;  and  as 
may  be  supposed  it  was  a  thoroughly  cheerful  party. 
As  the  ingredients  were  prepared  they  were  put  into  a 
huge  tub.  Later  in  the  evening  the  male  friends  of  the 
house  arrived,  and  each  of  them  was  required  to  lay 
hold  of  a  ladle  that  stood  upright  in  the  tub,  and  stir  the 
paste  three  times  round  ;  a  by  no  means  easy  task, 
which  needed  a  good  deal  of  muscular  strength.  But 
it  had  rather  a  symbolical  meaning,  and  those  whose 
strength  was  inadequate  were  mercifully  exempted. 
The  concluding  touch  was  given  by  Engels  himself, 
who  descended  into  the  wine-cellar  and  brought  up 
champagne,  in  which  we  drank  to  a  merry  Christmas 
and  many  other  things  as  well.  All  this,  of  course,  took 
place  downstairs  in  the  great  kitchen,  which  enhanced 
the  charm  of  the  whole  proceeding,  for  to  linger  in  a 
spacious  kitchen  always  puts  one  somehow  in  mind  of 
one’s  home.  At  one  time  even  well-to-do  people  used 
to  eat  in  the  kitchen  :  and  this  would  have  answered 
capitally  in  Engels’  house,  for  the  kitchen  was  a  roomy 
one,  with  the  range  built  into  the  fireplace  after  the 
English  fashion,  so  that  it  did  not  take  up  any  room  to 
speak  of.  Like  so  many  things  in  England,  it  com¬ 
bined  the  old  with  the  new.  The  construction  of  the 
range  was  at  that  time  regarded  as  modern,  but  the  old- 
fashioned  turn-spit  or  meat -jack  was  not  lacking,  on 
which  a  hanging  joint  of  beef  could  be  roasted,  while 
underneath  was  a  dish  to  catch  the  dripping  fat.  In 
Germany,  in  a  small  house  or  tenement,  the  kitchen 
has  often  enough  to  serve  as  a  sitting-room  ;  but  hardly 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  199 


so  often  as  in  England,  where  in  the  advertisements  of 
dwelling-houses  the  kitchen,  in  the  smaller  houses,  is 
briefly  described  as  a  “  living-room,”  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  best  room,  or  sitting-room,  as  it  is  called.  Of 
course,  in  such  houses  the  scullery  is  always  shut  off 
from  the  kitchen. 

But  whereas  Engels’  kitchen  was  never  used  for 
meals,  there  were  occasions  on  which  it  seems  to  have 
served  for  drinking,  owing  to  its  nearness  to  the  cellar. 
Engels  himself  told  me  of  at  least  one  such  occasion. 
With  a  certain  good  friend  of  his  he  once  sat  the  live¬ 
long  night  in  the  kitchen,  arguing  and  drinking  wine, 
until  his  wife  came  down  early  in  the  morning  and  made 
coffee  for  them. 

This  friend  was  Dr.  Eugen  Oswald,  a  German,  who 
in  his  youth,  after  spending  some  time  in  France,  came 
to  London  as  a  fugitive,  made  himself  at  home  there, 
and  obtained  a  position  as  teacher  in  the  Greenwich 
School  of  Navigation.  Although  he  was  not  a  Socialist 
of  the  Marxian  type,  but  contented  himself  with  a 
democratic  republicanism,  he  was  on  friendly  terms 
with  both  Marx  and  Engels,  and  in  my  days  he  was  a 
constant  visitor  on  Engels’  social  evenings.  His  was  an 
honourable  character;  he  was  a  diligent  worker,  Pre¬ 
sident  of  the  Carlyle  Society,  and  Secretary  to  the 
English  Goethe  Society,  if  I  am  not  mistaken.  For  a 
long  time  too  he  was  a  lecturer  in  the  Working  Men’s 
College  in  Great  Ormond  Street,  founded  by  F.  Denison 
Maurice,  the  friend  of  the  preacher  and  poet  Charles 
Kingsley,  and  the  father  of  Christian  Socialism  in  Eng¬ 
land.  This  Institute  is  a  good  illustration,  in  its  general 
character,  of  a  phase  of  English  social  life  and  social 
endeavour  which  we  have  left  behind  us  by  almost 
three  generations.  Something  of  its  constructive 
idealism  had  adhered  to  Oswald  himself.  He  had  not 
made  a  fortune  in  England.  Since  he  had  not  held 


200 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


an  absolutely  regular  appointment  at  Greenwich,  where 
he  was  obliged  to  take  up  lecturing  in  his  seventies,  he 
did  not  even  draw  a  pension.  He  was  already  nearly 
eighty  years  of  age  when  through  the  mediation  of 
friends  he  was  chosen  to  teach  the  German  language 
and  literature  to  the  sons  of  the  then  Prince  of  Wales, 
the  present  King.  A  short  time  before  the  outbreak 
of  the  present  war  he  closed  his  eyes  for  ever.  The 
catastrophe  would  have  been  a  heavy  spiritual  blow  to 
him,  for  he  felt  himself  to  be  in  all  respects  a  mediator 
between  the  German  and  the  English  spirit. 

Oswald  was  almost  the  only  German  living  in 
England  who  was  not  a  Social  Democrat,  yet  visited 
Engels’  house.  At  the  same  time,  in  my  days,  apart 
from  Edward  Aveling  and  Eleanor  Marx,  only  one 
prominent  English  Socialist  used  to  frequent  Engels’ 
house.  This  was  the  author  and  man  of  letters,  Ernest 
Belfort  Bax,  a  man  of  many-sided  culture,  who  had  a 
good  knowledge  of  German  philosophy  and  spoke  the 
German  language  fluently.  Until  the  Great  War  he 
had  in  most  things  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  German 
character,  but  on  the  outbreak  of  the  war  he  was,  o£ 
?  course,  to  be  found  in  the  ranks  of  those  English  Socialists 
who  turned  absolutely  against  Germany.  An  extremely 
outspoken  atheist  and  republican,  he  is,  in  the  matter 
of  politics,  a  good  deal  in  sympathy  with  the  French 
Radicals  ;  the  inexorable  Marat  is  his  hero,  and  the 
subject  of  one  of  his  books.  As  an  author  he  is  highly 
esteemed,  and  he  has  undoubtedly  done  great  service 
in  the  propagation  of  Socialistic  opinions  in  England. 
He  is  one  of  those  English  intellectuals  who,  early  in 
the  eighties,  first  restored  to  Socialism,  which  was  then 
regarded  as  defunct,  its  civil  rights  in  the  world  of  letters. 
He  has  also  done  his  part  in  creating  the  English 
Socialistic  lyric,  as  poet  and  composer.  He  is,  it  must 
be  added,  a  cultivated  musician,  and  about  1890  he  was 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  201 


joint  musical  critic  with  George  Bernard  Shaw,  on  the 
Radical  evening  paper,  the  Star. 

Casting  my  mind  back  to  those  days,  I  remember  a 
very  amusing  friendly  smack  which  Bax  received  from 
Shaw.  “  My  colleague/’  wrote  Shaw  in  one  of  his 
criticisms,  “  had  fallen  asleep  beside  me.  As  on  the 
way  home  I  was  telling  him  what  I  thought  of  the  per¬ 
formance,  he  suddenly  interrupted  me  with  the  words : 

‘  How  can  you  pretend  to  give  an  opinion  when  you 
were  asleep  the  whole  time  ?  ’  ”  The  humour  of  this 
remark  resides  in  the  fact  that  Bax,  as  all  his  acquaint¬ 
ances  were  aware,  was  prone  to  become  completely  lost 
in  speculation,  and  was  capable  of  the  maddest  paradoxes, 
which  he,  unlike  Shaw,  always  took  very  seriously. 

His  paradoxes  made  him  a  lively  contributor  to  the 
conversation  round  Engels’  table.  He  upheld  them  in 
spite  of  all  our  contradictions,  and  defended  them  with 
the  greatest  obstinacy.  As  an  anti-Feminist  he  was 
absolutely  fanatical.  With  his  pen  he  asserted  and 
defended  the  opinion  that  in  England  the  men  con¬ 
stitute  the  downtrodden  sex,  while  the  women  are 
privileged  to  excess.  It  may  indeed  be  admitted  that 
the  protection  which  English  law  extends  to  the  woman, 
in  mitigation  of  her  general  condition  of  statutory 
tutelage,  does  in  individual  cases  result  in  the  unjust 
treatment  of  the  man.  Such  anomalies  are  possible  in 
all  legislation  intended  to  protect  the  socially  or  per¬ 
sonally  weaker  party.  But  to  conclude  therefrom  that 
in  England  the  man  is  legally  the  "  bondsman  ”  of  the 
woman  betrays  a  very  one-sided  consideration  of  the 
matter.  There  are  various  instances  of  such  one-sided- 
ness  to  be  observed  in  Bax.  Since  he  is  well  read  and 
perspicacious,  he  can  plead  his  case  cleverly  enough,  so 
that  a  colleague  on  the  Socialist  weekly  To-Day  once 
exclaimed,  in  the  middle  of  a  criticism,  with  comical 
effect,  “  Why  is  Bax  always  so  unanswerably  in  the 


202 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


right  and  so  hopelessly  in  the  wrong  ?  ”  One  can  under¬ 
stand  how  such  a  man  will  keep  the  conversational  ball 
rolling. 

Shaw  himself  I  never  met  at  Engels’,  nor  any  other 
of  the  then  better-known  Fabians.  For  a  long  time 
Edward  Aveling  stood  between  him  and  Engels,  and 
also  between  him  and  myself.  On  account  of  Aveling, 
indeed,  many  people  kept  away  from  Engels’  house  ; 
as  did,  even  before  my  time,  Frau  Gertrud  Guillaume 
Schack,  who  had  done  so  much  for  the  German  working- 
women’s  movement.  This  lady,  who  was  descended 
form  the  noble  family  of  Schack,  was  a  warm-hearted, 
convinced  Socialist,  and  was,  on  account  of  her  good- 
humour  and  her  unassuming  character,  an  extremely 
pleasant  companion,  whom  Engels  was  always  delighted 
to  see.  One  day  he  received  a  letter  from  her  in  which 
she  begged  him  not  to  suppose,  if  she  refrained  from 
coming  to  his  “  evenings,”  that  it  was  due  to  any  lack 
of  esteem  for  him.  So  long  as  Dr.  Aveling  visited  his 
house  she  could  not  enter  it.  He  received  a  similar 
letter  when  I  was  just  settled  in  London  from  a  highly 
cultivated  lady,  the  English  Socialist  who,  under  the 
pseudonym  of  “  John  Law,”  wrote  of  the  conditions  of 
the  seamstresses  of  Manchester,  and  the  work  and 
character  of  the  Salvation  Army  in  the  East  End  of 
London,  and  described  similar  social  conditions  and 

phenomena  in  the  form  of  fiction.  Both  Miss  H - 

and  Frau  Schack  flatly  refused  to  give  Engels  any 
further  reason  for  their  desire  to  avoid  Aveling. 

One  is  forced  to  suppose  that  Aveling  had  been 
guilty  of  some  insult  of  a  kind  that  a  refined  woman 
would  not  willingly  speak  of.  Even  in  Englishmen  I 
have  encountered  a  strong  disinclination  to  allow 
accusations  of  a  serious  nature  to  go  beyond  a  very 
narrow  circle.  In  1895  Aveling  was  excluded  from  the 
London  branch  of  the  affiliated  league  of  the  Independent 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  203 


Labour  Party.  The  reason  given  for  his  exclusion  was 
non-committal,  so  that  at  the  time  it  was  supposed  that 
it  was  put  forward  in  place  of  the  real  one.  Three  years 
later,  when  I  had  occasion  to  get  at  the  truth  concerning 
Aveling,  I  one  day  asked  the  Secretary  of  the  League, 
in  a  friendly  conversation,  what  the  real  cause  of  his 
exclusion  had  been.  He  could  safely  confide  in  me. 
However,  I  could  get  nothing  out  of  the  fellow.  He 
replied,  on  the  other  hand,  almost  protestingly,  that  he 
had  “  the  greatest  respect  for  Dr.  Aveling’s  talents  and 
knowledge/'  and  when  I  pressed  him  further  his  remarks 
became  almost  evasive.  I  could  get  nothing  more  out 
of  him,  except  that  he  finally  decided  to  make  a  con¬ 
fession.  “  Well,  I  will  tell  you.  The  reason  given  was 
not  the  real  reason.  The  matter  is  simply  this,  that 
we  don’t  want  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  the 
fellow.”  These  last  words  were  spoken  with  peculiar 
emphasis,  and  I  saw  that  it  would  go  against  the  grain 
with  him  to  say  anything  further.  Yet  he  knew  things 
of  the  excluded  member  which  would  have  sufficed  to 
land  him  in  prison. 

The  predilection  for  the  expedient  of  indulging  in 
partial  praise  of  a  person,  in  order  to  avoid  telling 
the  unpleasant  truth  about  him,  was  a  thing  that 
astonished  me  soon  after  my  settling  down  in  London. 
About  the  end  of  the  first  year  my  wife  and  I  received 
a  social  invitation  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hubert  Bland, 
who  belonged  to  the  inner  circle  of  the  Fabians.  They 
and  their  guests  were  interesting  people,  and  the  con¬ 
versation  was  very  natural  and  spontaneous.  But  when 
in  some  connection  or  other  I  spoke  of  the  Avelings, 
there  was  suddenly  a  suspiciously  unanimous  chorus  of 
praise  of  them.  “  Oh,  the  Avelings  are  very  clever 
people.”  “  Oh,  everybody  must  admit  that  they  have 
been  of  great  service  to  the  movement,”  and  so  forth, 
in  the  same  key,  so  that  it  was  at  once  clear  to  me  that 


204 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


there  was  something  in  the  air.  I  diverted  the  con¬ 
versation  to  politics.  But  a  judge  of  human  nature 
might  have  blurted  out  the  question  :  “  What’s  the 
truth  about  them,  really  ?  Have  they  murdered  their 
children,  or  what  ?  ”  I  am,  however,  not  certain  that 
I  should  be  entitled  to  speak  of  hypocrisy  in  connection 
with  this  manner  of  evading  a  definite  accusation  :  we 
are  dealing  with  a  deeply  rooted  custom,  which  is 
practised  from  youth  upwards,  so  that  in  any  case  no 
one  is  conscious  of  deception,  and  as  it  is  a  national 
custom  no  one  is  deceived  by  it. 

That  it  prevails  in  literature  as  well  was  made  very 
plain  to  me  on  one  occasion,  when  I  was  running  through 
a  book  of  mine  with  a  cultured  and  open-minded  English 
lady  who  was  advising  me  on  points  of  grammatical 
correctness  and  style.  I  no  longer  remember  precisely 
what  it  was  about  ;  but  in  various  polemical  passages 
my  adviser  would  inform  me,  categorically  :  “  That  is 
much  too  crudely  put  ;  you  mustn’t  say  that ;  you 
couldn’t  possibly  say  this  in  the  better  class  of  literature.” 
And  yet  I  don’t  think  I  am  regarded  as  a  peculiarly 
contentious  writer. 

In  particular,  an  urbaner  tone  prevails  in  English 
literature  than  in  ours.  This  occurred  to  me  with 
painful  significance  one  day  when  I  was  reading  a  dis¬ 
cussion  between  August  Weissmann  and  Herbert  Spencer 
in  one  of  the  great  English  reviews  (I  think  it  was  the 
Fortnightly  Review )  concerning  the  theory  of  the  in¬ 
heritance  of  acquired  characteristics,  to  which  Weiss¬ 
mann,  as  is  well  known,  was  opposed,  while  Spencer 
defended  it.  Weissmann’s  article  was  pedagogical  and 
overbearing  ;  he  treated  his  opponent,  who,  although 
no  zoologist  by  profession,  was  a  sagacious  thinker  and 
a  man  of  very  comprehensive  knowledge,  as  an  ignorant 
fellow.  Spencer  was  courteous  throughout,  merely 
allowing  those  facts  to  speak  for  him  on  which  he  had 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  44  EVENINGS  ”  205 


based  his  opinion.  At  that  time  I  quickly  put  the 
article  aside.  I  was  annoyed.  However  cosmopolitan 
our  opinions  may  be,  in  matters  like  this  we  feel  our 
solidarity  with  our  countrymen  sufficiently  to  be 
ashamed  of  them. 

Of  course,  there  are  plenty  of  people,  even  in  Eng¬ 
land,  who  are  capable  of  holding  their  own,  in  the  matter 
of  a  contentious  and  quarrelsome  tone,  with  the  pug¬ 
nacious  Teuton.  Among  them  is,  or  was,  H.  M.  Hynd- 
man,  the  leader  of  that  wing  of  the  English  Socialists  ^ 
which  derived  its  political  doctrine  from  Marx.  Hynd- 
man,  who  had  made  Marx’s  acquaintance  during  the  * 

last  years  of  his  life,  and  had  steeped  himself  in  his 
writings,  has  written  a  very  readable  book  on  the 
Economics  of  Socialism,  which  is,  indeed,  not  without 
its  defects,  but  is  still  able  to  hold  its  own  with  the 
average  German  work  devoted  to  the  popularisation  of 
Marx’s  teaching.  But  the  practical  application  which 
he  gave  this  doctrine  was  violently  sectarian,  and  his 
manner  of  stating  it  was  often  arrogantly  disputatious. 

In  this  connection  the  irony  of  the  facts  so  ordered  matters 


that  he,  who  was  regarded  as  the  appointed  apostle  of 
Marxism  in  England,  was  to  find  the  house  of  Marx’s 
collaborator  and  his  formally  appointed  apostle  closed 
to  him.  Hyndman,  when  he  had  published  his  first 
Socialistic  work,  sent  it  to  Engels,  asking  if  he  might  call 
on  him  ;  but  he  received  the  cool  reply,  which  amounted 
to  a  refusal,  that  Engels  would  receive  him  when  he  had 
publicly  made  it  known  to  whom  he  owed  the  ideas 
contained  in  his  writings.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  of  course, 
he  had  availed  himself  extensively  of  Marx’s  writings, 
but,  as  Hyndman  himself  explained  at  a  later  date,  he 
had  not  mentioned  Marx  for  reasons  of  expediency.  : 
However,  although  there  was  no  question  of  malicious 
plagiarism,  Friedrich  Engels  was  always  in  deadly 
earnest  where  Marx  was  concerned,  and  when  Hynd- 


206 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


man  had  repaired  his  mistake  certain  squabbles  which  had 
in  the  meantime  occurred  in  the  English  Socialist  move¬ 
ment  had  the  result  that  the  interdict  was  never  raised. 

William  Morris,  the  distinguished  poet  and  artist, 
and  the  leader  of  the  Socialist  League,  which  in  1884 
seceded  from  the  Socialist  Federation,  was,  up  to  the 
time  of  this  schism,  an  occasional  visitor  in  Engels' 
house,  and  Engels  always  spoke  of  him  with  respect, 
but  they  never  became  intimate.  The  principal  reason 
was  this,  that  Morris  was  the  central  star  of  a  circle 
of  his  own.  Moreover,  he  could  only  with  difficulty 
get  away  on  Sunday  evenings.  Beside  his  beautiful 
house,  which  was  in  the  western  part  of  London,  namely, 
in  Hammersmith,  facing  the  swiftly-flowing  Thames — 
beside  Kelmscott  House  was  a  long,  narrow  lecture  hall, 
where  Socialist  propagandist  meetings  were  held  on 
Sunday  evenings  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  and 
at  these  meetings  Morris  was  often  in  the  chair.  I  have 
twice  delivered  a  lecture  there  with  Morris  as  chairman, 
but  I  never  heard  him  speak  himself.  But  I  do  not 
believe  that  he  had  any  great  rhetorical  gift.  Certainly 
he  could  express  his  ideas  in  a  very  arresting  manner, 
but  this  was  when  speaking  to  a  comparatively  small 
circle  in  an  unconstrained  gossiping  tone.  Rhetoric, 
properly  speaking,  was  not  natural  to  him  ;  his  whole 
nature  was,  if  I  may  say  so,  anti-rhetorical.  This 
strongly-built  man  of  middle  height,  with  his  fine,  im¬ 
pressive  head,  was  an  artist  through  and  through  ;  but 
not  an  artist  of  the  spoken  word.  The  principal  scene 
of  his  activity  was  his  workroom  or  his  studio,  whether 
that  of  the  literary  or  the  plastic  artist.  As  a  painter 
and  designer  he  is  one  of  the  founders  of  the  style  which, 
variously  distorted,  is  known  in  Germany  as  the  Jugend- 
stil ;  as  a  poet  he  is,  in  his  longer  works,  a  teller  of  tales, 
richly  embellished  by  his  imagination.  A  follower  of 
Ruskin  in  the  first  place,  he  is  essentially  a  romantic ; 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  207 


no  one  but  a  romantic  could  have  written  that  interest¬ 
ing  picture  of  the  future,  which  has  been  translated  into 
every  language,  "  News  from  Nowhere  ”  :  in  the  German 
version,  Kiinde  von  Nirgendwo.  But  although  he  re¬ 
garded  Socialism  essentially  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
artist,  William  Morris  was  by  no  means  the  type  of 
aesthete  who  merely  writes  of  Socialism  now  and  again. 
No  ;  he  was  in  the  heart  of  the  movement  ;  he  was 
among  the  first  to  assist  in  its  organisation,  and  to  do 
propaganda  work  ;  and  at  that  time  one  might  often  see 
the  admired  poet,  the  well-to-do  manufacturer,  the  de¬ 
signer  of  tapestries  for  the  selectest  houses  of  the  West 
End,  at  some  street-corner  in  a  working-class  district  of 
London,  preaching  the  message  of  Socialism  to  a  handful 
of  working  men. 

When  Socialist  propaganda  was  resumed  in  England 
it  encountered,  in  the  working-class  population,  an  un¬ 
commonly  stubborn  material.  The  members  of  the 
trade  unions  and  other  organisations  were  as  often  as  not 
supporters  or  allies  of  the  Liberal  Party,  which  included 
a  powerful  Radical  contingent,  especially  of  the  left 
wing  of  the  party,  and  the  uneducated  working  men 
stood  as  yet  on  a  very  low  intellectual  level,  and  were 
therefore  all  the  more  difficult  to  organise.  The  differ¬ 
ence  between  the  artisan  and  the  uneducated  working 
man  in  the  matter  of  wages  and  cultivation  was,  for  the 
most  part,  until  lately,  very  much  greater  in  England 
than  with  us  ;  which  explains,  among  other  things,  why 
the  German,  on  coming  to  England,  having  read  that 
the  English  worker  is  better  paid,  and  works  shorter 
hours  than  the  German  worker,  at  first  receives  the  con¬ 
trary  impression.  Since  the  uneducated  workers  con¬ 
stitute  the  great  majority,  it  is  they  who  give  the  tone 
to  certain  working-class  districts,  though  not  to  all. 

One  of  the  first  artisans  to  join  the  Socialist  movement 
was  the  engineer  or  machinist,  John  Burns,  who  later 


208 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


became  a  Cabinet  Minister.  He  now  and  then  visited 
Engels,  who  was  very  well  aware  of  the  superior  capaci¬ 
ties  and  the  weaknesses  of  this  undoubtedly  gifted  prole¬ 
tarian.  In  conversation  with  me  he  once  compared  him 
to  Cromwell,  of  whose  capacities  he  had  a  great  opinion. 
He  placed  him,  in  the  military  rank,  as  high  as  Napoleon  i., 
and  as  a  statesman  above  him.  Of  Burns  he  used  to 
say,  if  any  one  criticised  him  unfavourably :  “  He  is 
more  sinned  against  than  sinning.”  A  sinner  he  was,  to 
be  sure  ;  his  conceit,  which  verged  upon  the  childish, 
in  itself  very  comprehensible  in  a  man  who  is  astonished 
by  his  own  capacity,  caused  him  to  behave  with  a  want 
of  consideration  which  is  only  with  difficulty  forgiven 
in  the  Labour  movement.  But  he  was  absolutely  honest 
in  his  devotion  to  the  cause,  and  for  many  years  had 
performed  a  vast  and  unselfish  amount  of  work  for  the 
movement  while  he  was  still  earning  his  living  as  an 
artisan.  Strong  as  a  bear,  endowed  with  a  tremendous 
voice,  with  a  mastery  of  striking  images  and  comparisons 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  beat,  he  combined,  with  the 
outward  attributes  of  the  popular  speaker,  the  virtues 
of  the  worker  who  takes  a  delight  in  acquiring  knowledge, 
and  is  an  eager  and  omnivorous  reader.  His  pride  and 
treasure  is  his  library,  which  was  already  considerable 
before  he  became  a  Minister. 

I  got  to  know  him  when  I  had,  one  day,  some  trans¬ 
action  or  other  with  a  very  capable  English  Socialist, 
the  ex-naval  lieutenant,  H.  H.  Champion.  We  met  at  a 
restaurant  in  the  City,  and  Champion  introduced  me  to 
Burns,  who  already  had  a  reputation  in  the  movement, 
but  who  impressed  me,  at  first,  merely  as  a  man  of  great 
energy.  He  ordered  nothing  to  eat  or  drink.  I  learned 
later  that  he  ordered  no  food  because  he  had  not  the 
money  to  pay  for  it,  and  was  too  proud  to  eat  at  our 
expense,  and  no  drink  because  he  was  a  strict  abstainer. 
Until  then  I  had  never  met  an  abstainer  face  to  face; 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  209 


I  had  only  just  heard  of  theTemperance  Party.  But  that 
so  sturdy  a  worker  should  on  principle  abstain  from  the 
least  drop  of  beer  was  to  me  quite  an  unexpected  pheno¬ 
menon.  I  thought  it  a  curious  and  interesting  fact 
that  Champion  and  I,  both  “  intellectuals/’  should  drink 
beer,  while  Burns,  the  manual  worker,  was  an  abstainer 
on  principle — a  contrast  which  I  was  often  to  note 
later  on.  A  large  percentage  of  English  working-class 
Socialists  are  total  abstainers,  while  the  majority  of 
middle-class  Socialists  do  not  despise  the  delights  of 
beer,  wine,  or  whisky.  That  Friedrich  Engels  was  no 
abstainer  in  practice  every  one  knows  who  has  read 
his  letters.  Neither  was  he  one  in  theory,  although  he 
was  very  well  acquainted  with  the  theory  of  the  matter. 

How  English  workers  sometimes  conceive  of  total 
abstinence  is.  shown  by  an  incident  which  occurred  in 
Zurich  in  1893,  on  the  occasion  of  the  International 
Socialist  Congress,  which  was  held  there.  Eleanor 
Marx  encountered,  in  one  of  the  finest  beer-gardens  in 
Zurich,  a  number  of  English  labour-leaders,  whom  she 
knew  as  total  abstainers,  cheerfully  sitting  with  glasses 
of  beer  in  front  of  them.  She  scornfully  reproached 
them,  remarking  that  their  principles  apparently  had 
not  survived  the  change  of  air  ;  but  the  gigantic  leader 
of  the  Gasworkers’  Union,  Will  Thorne,  coolly  replied 
that  she  was  quite  mistaken,  for  lager  beer  was  a  “  tem¬ 
perance  drink.” 

Will  Thorne,  who  to-day  is  playing  an  influential 
part  in  the  public  life  of  England  as  a  Member  of.  Parlia¬ 
ment  and  a  member  of  the  Trade  Union  Parliamentary 
Committee,  was  at  that  time  the  representative  of  one 
of  the  so-called  New  Unions,  that  is,  of  a  struggling 
union  of  uneducated  workers,  and  was  himself  quite  the 
proletarian.  Eleanor  Marx  and  Friedrich  Engels  thought 
very  highly  indeed  of  him.  Engels  gave  him  a  copy  of 
the  English  edition  of  Marx’s  Capital ,  with  a  long 

14 


210 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


personal  dedication,  and  only  the  great  distance  of  his 
place  of  residence — the  extreme  East  End  of  London — 
prevented  him  from  becoming  one  of  Engels’  regular 
guests.  Between  him  and  Eleanor  Marx  there  was  a 
real  friendship,  and  when,  in  1898,  we  gathered  round 
the  poor  girl’s  coffin,  in  order  to  accompany  her  body 
to  the  crematorium,  the  strong  man  was  so  overcome 
that  his  valedictory  speech  was  uttered  in  a  tremulous 
voice,  while  the  tears  rolled  incessantly  down  his  cheeks . 
During  the  Great  War  he  was  one  of  those  English 
Socialists  who  held  German  militarism  to  be  responsible, 
and  he  regarded  its  defeat  as  the  imperative  war-aim  of 
democracy. 

In  my  time  France  was  but  sparsely  represented  at 
Engels’  table.  Charles  Longuet,  the  husband  of  Marx’s 
eldest  daughter,  Jenny,  Paul  Laf argue,  the  husband  of 
his  second  daughter,  Laura,  and  Laura  herself  came 
over  occasionally  as  visitors  from  Paris,  and  if  Laura 
Lafargue’s  interests  were  literary,  rather  than  political, 


both  Marx’s  French  sons-in-law  were  none  the  less  strong 
party  politicians.  But  they  stood  in  different  camps. 
Charles  Longuet,  of  Norman  origin,  and  a  pupil  of 


Proudhon’s,  had  attached  himself  to  the  extreme  left 
of  the  Radical  party,  while  Paul  Lafargue,  together 
with  Jules  Guesde,  had  founded  the  party  whose  official 
title  was  the  Parti  Ouvrier,  and  which  derived  its  political 
doctrines  from  Marx.  The  method  of  derivation  was 
indeed,  even  in  Marx’s  lifetime,  not  always  to  his  liking, 
so  that  he  once  addressed  to  Lafargue  the  words  which 
have  since  become  famous  :  "  One  thing  is  certain, 

and  that  is  that  I  am  not  a  Marxist.”  And  in  Lafargue’s 
writings,  in  which  he  makes  use  of  Marx’s  historical 
materialism,  the  history  of  myths  and  ideas,  and  the 
historical  significance  of  the  same,  these  are  mingled 
with  demonstrations  to  whose  audacity  Marx  would 
hardly  have  subscribed.  But  he  was,  for  all  that,  an 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  44  EVENINGS  ”  211 


extraordinarily  well-read  man,  fertile  in  ideas,  with 
whom  it  was  a  pleasure  to  converse.  He  has  written 
satires  which  are  equal  to  the  masterpieces  of  this 
department  of  French  literature.  Half  satire,  half¬ 
earnest  admonition  is  his  little  brochure  Le  Droit  d  la 
Paresse,  which  in  Germany  has  appeared  under  the 
title  of  Das  Recht  auf  Faulheit.  Keen  and  caustic  in 
argument,  in  personal  intercourse  he  has  many  agreeable 
traits.  The  materialist  in  theory  is  in  practice  an  idealist  i 
of  the  purest  water,  and  far  more  of  an  ideologist  than  " 
Charles  Longuet,  whose  attitude  towards  the  Marxian 
theory  is  a  critical  one. 

Charles  Longuet,  the  father  of  the  present  Socialist 
deputy,  Jean  Longuet,  was  a  man  worth  knowing. 
While  Lafargue,  born  in  Havana,  might  in  all  respects 
have  been  taken  for  a  Frenchman  of  the  South,  with 
that  touch  of  the  bizarre  which  Daudet  has  treated 
with  such  sly  irony  in  Tartarin  of  Tarascon,  Charles 
Longuet  was  an  unusually  lively  debater,  whom  the  most 
fiery  of  southerners  could  not  excel  in  quickness  of  in¬ 
tuition  ;  but  in  the  last  resort  his  political  arguments 
were  those  of  the  prudent  and  sagacious  northerner,  able 
to  form  an  accurate  estimate  of  the  real  virtues  of  a 


policy.  Marx  once  wrote  to  Engels  in  a  letter  dated  the 
nth  of  November  1882  —  as  though  vexed  with  his 
Parisian  sons-in-law :  “  Longuet  as  the  last  of  the 

Proudhonists  and  Lafargue  as  the  last  of  the  Bakunists — 
may  the  devil  fly  away  with  them  !  ”  But  the  basic 
idea  of  the  philosophy  which  Marx  attacked  as  Bakunism 
retained  its  vitality  in  France,  up  to  the  outbreak  of 
the  war,  as  revolutionary  syndicalism,  and  Proudhon, 
with  all  his  defects  as  a  theorist,  was  nevertheless  that 
one  of  the  French  Socialists  who  understood  and  re¬ 
flected  the  spirit  of  French  democracy  better  than  the 
majority  of  the  Socialists  of  his  time.  Longuet,  more¬ 
over,  shaped  his  policy  independently  of  the  theoretical 


212 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


crotchets  of  Proudhon,  and  had  absorbed  enough  of 
Marx’s  doctrine  to  enable  him  skilfully  to  adapt  his 
theories  to  his  own  policy.  He  had  neither  the  dili¬ 
gence  nor  the  originality  of  Lafargue  :  he  himself  did 
not  dig  for  gold,  but  he  had  the  eye  of  the  expert,  who 
can  distinguish  gold  from  the  less  valuable  metals,  and 
the  talent  of  the  practical  coiner. 

Both  of  Marx’s  sons-in-law  wrote  memoirs  of  Marx, 
which  constituted  a  valuable  supplement  to  his  portrait 
as  it  then  existed.  In  the  Neue  Zeit  for  1890-91 
Lafargue  published  various  articles  on  Marx’s  methods 
of  work,  his  literary  judgment,  and  his  private  life, 
which  brought  Marx  the  thinker  very  much  closer,  in 
a  human  sense,  to  the  reader  and  Longuet,  in  1900, 
in  the  preface  to  the  addresses  to  the  General  Council  of 
the  Internationale  concerning  the  Franco-Prussian  War 
of  1870,  and  the  Paris  Commune  of  1871,  which  were 
written  by  Marx,  described  the  more  noteworthy  char¬ 
acteristics  of  the  emotional  side  of  Marx  the  politician. 
Longuet  argued,  in  this  preface,  that  the  invectives 
which  Marx,  in  his  writings  concerning  the  Commune, 
hurled  against  the  murderous  besiegers  of  the  same,  had 
this  property  in  common  with  the  invectives  of  the  great 
pamphleteers  of  the  world’s  literature,  that  they  were 
the  expression  of  the  anger  aroused  by  deeply-felt  in¬ 
justice.  And  he  continued  : 

“  In  this  temple  of  the  materialistic  conception  of 
history  one  lived  always  the  noblest  idealistic  life,  the 
only  life  that  repays  the  effort  of  living  it.  Those  exiled 
for  all  revolts  in  the  name  of  the  people’s  cause  were  here 
received  with  open  arms.  Without  conditions,  without 
reservations  as  to  doctrine,  without  the  least  spirit  of 
sectarianism,  they  were  overwhelmed  with  proofs  of  the 
most  cordial  hospitality.  .  .  .  Neutrality  was  abhorred. 
With  his  favourite  poet,  the  implacable  Ghibelline,  Marx 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  213 


banished  the  neutrals  to  the  gates  of  hell,  to  the  common 
horde  of  those  angels  who  are  fallen  angels,  because  they 
were  neither  rebels  against  God,  nor  yet  faithful  to  Him, 
but  sought  only  their  own  good— fallen  not  because  of 
opposition,  but  because  of  their  cowardice.  .  .  .  His 
philosophy  knew  nothing  of  casuistry.  It  never  dis¬ 
honoured  the  frank,  lucid  theory  of  the  class  conflict  by 
chameleonic  subtleties.” 

Yet  another  French  Socialist,  who  for  some  time  was 
one  of  Engels’  regular  guests,  deserves  some  mention 
in  these  pages :  the  linguist  and  litterateur,  Charles 
Bonnier.  A  Socialist  of  the  Marxist  school,  a  friend  and 
admirer  of  Jules  Guesde,  he  was  a  man  of  great  artistic 
culture,  and  was  also  a  passionate  admirer  of  Richard 
Wagner,  making  regular  pilgrimages  to  Bayreuth,  at 
the  time  of  the  Wagner  festivals.  He  was  a  dear  friend 
of  ours,  and  if  on  Engels’  Sunday  evenings  he  consented 
to  sing  us  French  or  German  songs,  he  always  received 
the  heartiest  thanks  ;  for  he  had  a  fine,  sonorous  baritone 
voice,  and  sang  with  great  artistic  knowledge.  Wagner 
was  the  occasion  of  many  a  dispute  between  him  and 
Engels  ;  the  friend  whom  Engels  mentioned  in  connec¬ 
tion  with  Wagner  in  a  note  to  his  essay  on  the  origin  of 
the  family,  was  Bonnier.  Bonnier’s  worship  of  Wagner 
found  an  echo,  however,  in  me,  for  I  too  was  an  ardent 
admirer  of  the  poet  and  composer  of  Lohengrin,  Tristan , 
and  Die  Meister singer.  From  London  Bonnier  went  to 
Oxford,  where  he  settled  down  as  tutor,  and  is  perhaps  a 
tutor  to  this  day.  Even  after  Engels’  death  he  visited 
London  from  time  to  time,  and  was  always  a  welcome 
guest  in  my  house.  But  when  I  became  a  heretic  in 
respect  of  the  strict  doctrine  of  Marxism  there  came  a  rift 
in  our  friendship.  Yet  even  at  this  juncture  Bonnier 
did  not  forget  his  amiable  nature  in  the  parting  letter 
which  he  wrote  to  me.  He  concluded  with  the  cry  with 


214 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


which  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  in  T annhduser  summoned 
Tannhauser,  in  the  first  act,  to  return  to  the  Wartburg. 

The  two  sister  Romance  nations  of  France — Italy 
and  Spain — were  not  represented  in  my  time  among 
Engels'  guests  ;  nor  were  the  Balkans  or  Switzerland. 
Visitors  from  Scandinavia  were  also  quite  the  exception. 
Russia,  on  the  contrary,  was  for  a  long  time  represented 
by  the  revolutionary,  Sergius  Kravtschinsky,  who  in 
Western  Europe  was  known  by  his  pseudonym  of 
Stepniak,  as  the  author  of  Underground  Russia.  A 
powerfully  built  man  with  a  tremendous  head,  he  quite 
corresponded  with  the  picture  which  we  Germans  have 
formed  of  the  Slav.  He,  who  in  Russia  was  a  man  of 
action,  and  had  played  a  prominent  part  in  the  escape 
of  Peter  Kropotkin  from  prison,  and  in  the  successful 
attempt  upon  the  life  of  the  Petersburg  police  dictator, 
Mesenzov,  was  distinctly  a  man  of  a  dreamy,  sensitive, 
affectionate  nature.  He  was  the  soul  of  the  “  Free 
Russia  ”  Association,  which  set  itself  the  task  of  collect¬ 
ing  money  for  the  support  of  the  Russian  fight  for  free¬ 
dom.  For  this  Association  Stepniak  repeatedly  gave 
lectures  in  the  English  provinces,  and  also  undertook  a 
lecturing  tour  through  the  United  States,  when  he  re¬ 
ceived  a  particularly  friendly  welcome  from  the  Ameri¬ 
can  humorist,  Mark  Twain.  In  certain  English  literary 
circles  Stepniak,  who  had  some  success  as  a  novelist, 
held  an  honoured  position.  At  Engels’  table,  as  in 
society  in  general,  he  was  usually  a  silent  guest,  who 
seldom  spoke  unless  one  directly  addressed  him.  But 
one  saw  that  he  liked  coming  to  Engels’  house,  and  that 
he  valued  greatly  his  friendship.  Between  him  and 
myself,  too,  very  friendly  relations  developed.  But  a 
quarrel  between  the  “  Free  Russia  ”  people  and  the 
Polish  Socialists,  in  which  Engels  and  I  took  the  part  of 
the  latter,  led,  in  the  last  year  of  Engels’  life,  to  a  heated 
scene  in  his  house,  as  a  result  of  which  Stepniak  ceased 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  44  EVENINGS  ”  215 


to  visit  him.  He  and  I  met  after  that  only  at  gather¬ 
ings  where  we  did  indeed  acknowledge  one  another, 
but  avoided  any  intimate  conversation.  This  state  of 
affairs  underwent  a  change  only  the  night  before  his 
early  death.  That  evening  I  had  accepted  an  invitation 
to  the  house  of  the  English  historian,  Professor  Yorke 
Powell,  who  lived  in  a  fairly  remote  quarter  of  the  western 
part  of  London.  To  Powell’s  question  whether  I  had 
any  objection  to  meeting  Stepniak  at  his  house,  and  to 
smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  with  him,  I  replied  that  I  should 
welcome  the  opportunity,  since  our  quarrel  was  not  of  a 
personal  nature.  We  spent  a  very  cheerful  evening 
together.  Stepniak  told  me  repeatedly  how  glad  he  was 
that  we  should  be  on  the  same  footing  as  in  earlier  years  ; 
we  parted  on  the  best  of  terms ;  and  two  mornings  later, 
to  my  horror,  I  read  in  the  newspaper  that  the  author  of 
Underground  Russia  had  stepped  on  to  a  railway-track 
just  as  an  express  train  was  about  to  pass,  and  had  been 
killed.  This  had  happened  the  day  before,  the  morning 
after  our  meeting.  Of  course,  the  rumour  sprang  up  at 
once  that  he  had  committed  suicide,  and  had  intentionally 
allowed  himself  to  be  run  over.  But  the  disposition  of 
all  his  affairs,  as  well  as  the  tone  and  character  of  our 
conversation  on  the  previous  evening,  went  to  prove  that 
his  death  was  purely  accidental.  Apart  from  this  he  was 
a  man  who  readily  became  completely  absorbed  by  his 
thoughts,  and  he  had  a  habit  of  reading  as  he  walked, 
so  that  there  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  he  was  surprised 
by  the  express. 

His  body  was  reduced  to  ashes  at  the  Woking  crema¬ 
torium,  which  lies  at  about  an  hour’s  distance  by  rail 
from  London.  It  was  decided  that  the  funeral  procession 
should  accompany  the  body  only  as  far  as  the  Waterloo 
terminus.  It  was  a  gloomy  day  on  which  the  burial  took 
place,  and  only  about  a  thousand  mourners,  the  great 
majority  of  whom  were  Russo- Jewish  workers,  took 


216 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


part  in  the  procession.  Frorp  the  approach  to  the  de¬ 
parture  platform  of  the  railway  station,  addresses  were 
delivered  in  honour  of  the  deceased.  Which  of  the 
English  Socialists  spoke  I  no  longer  remember.  I  spoke 
on  behalf  of  the  German,  and  Peter  Kropotkin  on  behalf 
of  the  Russian  Socialists.  He  was  obviously  deeply 
affected,  and  his  speech  was  especially  impressive.  It 
sounded  like  a  dirge  and  a  lamentation  when  the  famous 
savant,  himself  approaching  old  age,  spoke  of  the  departed 
as  of  a  son  who  had  been  so  cruelly  snatched  away  from 
us  in  the  prime  of  his  life,  in  the  fullness  of  his  strength. 

I  cannot  think  of  the  patriarch  of  Russian  Anarchism, 
but  the  picture  of  him  as  I  saw  him  then  rises  before  my 
eyes.  And  in  other  respects  the  scene  was  such  as  to 
engrave  itself  deeply  in  the  memory.  Here  stands  a  man 
of  European  fame,  an  eminent  scholar,  beside  the  bier 
of  one  whose  works  were  read  in  all  countries  :  a  valiant 
and  faithful  soldier  in  the  fight  for  the  freedom  of  his 
people,  and  the  liberation  of  all  the  oppressed  ;  and  about 
them  throng  a  thousand  of  the  poorest  of  the  proletariat, 
who  looked  upon  the  dead  man  as  one  of  their  champions  : 
and  only  a  few  yards  distant  from  these  mourners  the 
life  of  the  capital  surges  along  the  Waterloo  Road, 
indifferent,  unconcerned,  as  though  here  on  the  approach 
to  the  departure  platform  men  were  hawking  any  sort 
of  everyday  wares.  It  was  a  contrast  with  which  the 
mind  can  easily  reconcile  itself  ;  but  at  the  time  it 
could  but  have  a  depressing  effect  upon  one’s  mood. 
Involuntarily,  I  remembered  Freiligratli’s  verses  upon 
the  burial  of  Johanna  Kinkels  : 

“  Zur  winterszeit  in  Engelland 
Versprengte  Manner  haben 
Wir  schweigend  in  den  fremden  Sand 
Die  Deutsche  Frau  begraben.”1 


1  “  In  winter-time  in  England  we  exiled  men  silently  buried  the 
German  woman  in  alien  soil.” — (Trans.) 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  217 


Stepniak  had  occupied  a  similar  position,  in  con¬ 
nection  with  Russian  emigration,  to  Freiligrath’s  in  the 
second  phase  of  his  exile  in  London.  He  had  held  him¬ 
self  aloof  from  the  followers  of  the  factions  ;  the  dispute 
which  led  to  a  breach  between  him  and  Engels  had 
nothing  to  do  with  theoretical  or  tactical  party  questions  ; 
it  was  concerned  merely  with  a  matter  which  touched 
upon  the  disagreeable  province  of  assurance  against 
political  espionage. 

Among  the  Polish  Socialists  with  whom  the  “  Free 
Russia  ”  people  had  quarrelled  were  two  most  interesting 
personalities,  M.  and  Mme  Mendelssohn- Janko vs ka, 
now  no  longer  among  the  living.  They  were  at  that 
time  among  the  guests  on  Engels’  Sunday  evenings.  On 
the  occasion  of  a  successful  attempt  upon  the  life  of  j 
the  leader  of  the  Russian  political  police,  General 
Seliverstov,  on  the  part  of  W.  Padlewski,  a  member  of 
this  party,  in  the  summer  of  1890,  M.  and  Mme  Mendels¬ 
sohn- Janko  vs  ka  were  notified  that  they  must  leave 
Paris.  They  at  once  settled  in  London,  and  from  thatj 
time  forwards  were  almost  regular  guests  of  Engels,  and 
very  welcome  ones. 

A  member  of  a  wealthy  Warsaw  banking  family, 
Stanislas  Mendelssohn  had  joined  the  Socialist  move¬ 
ment  when  still  a  gymnasium  student,  and  was  soon 
subjected  to  prosecution.  Leaving  the  country,  he 
was  imprisoned  in  Austria  ;  he  then  spent  many  years 
in  Geneva,  and  later  in  Paris,  working  as  a  writer  and 
organiser  for  the  constitution  of  a  Polish  Socialist  party, 
to  which  end  he  published  the  periodical,  Przedsvit  (The 
Dawn)  and  the  monthly  review,  Valka  Klass  (The  Class 
Conflict),  and  by  the  sacrifice  of  considerable  means  he 
had  provided  for  the  erection  and  maintenance  of  a 
printing-press  on  which  these  periodicals,  as  well  as  all 
kinds  of  pamphlets,  could  be  produced.  An  attempt 
to  obtain  assistance  from  the  Socialists  of  Posen  in  1882 


218 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


resulted  in  the  imprisonment  of  himself  and  his  then 
colleague,  K.  Janiszevski,  for  the  terms  of  two  and  a 
half  and  three  years  respectively,  while  their  party 
comrade,  Mme  Maria  de  Jankovska,  was  sentenced  to 
six  months’  imprisonment.  Maria  de  Jankovska  was 
a  child  of  the  aristocracy,  the  daughter  of  a  member  of 
the  old  Polish  nobility,  who  had  married  a  wealthy 
Polish  landowner  ;  but  she  was  so  devoted  to  the 
Socialist  cause,  that  without  leaving  her  husband,  and 
with  his  consent,  she  gave  up  the  greater  part  of  the 
year  to  Socialistic  activities.  She  had  received  a  good 
education,  having  had  German  and  French  teachers  in 
her  parents’  house,  and  her  appearance  was  extremely 
winning.  Of  even  greater  importance  to  the  cause  was 
the  man  she  married,  after  the  death  of  her  first  husband. 
Extraordinarily  well  read,  and  a  highly  critical  thinker, 
Stanislas  Mendelssohn  seemed  to  have  been  created  to 
take  part  in  intellectual  symposia.  Unhappily  all  sorts 
of  unfortunate  experiences  had  gradually  allowed  his 
critical  faculties  to  degenerate  into  an  acrid  scepticism. 
Giving  way  to  this,  he  finally  turned  his  back  upon  the 
Socialist  movement.  But  he  always  remained  a 
thoroughly  good  fellow,  ever  ready  to  give  help,  and 
with  a  warm  sympathy  for  all  sufferers,  his  personal 
opponents  not  excepted.  In  Engels’  time  his  scepticism 
revealed  itself  only  in  the  uncommonly  witty  manner 
in  which  he  dealt  with  the  events  of  the  day  ;  and  the 
fact  that  he,  compromised  as  he  was,  had  the  courage  to 
undertake  a  secret  journey  of  organisation,  in  1893-94, 
through  Russian  Poland,  with  excursions  into  Old 
Russia,  led  Engels  to  make  a  particular  friend  of  him, 
and  induced  him,  in  Mendelssohn’s  quarrel  with  the 
“  Free  Russia  ”  people,  to  take  the  part  of  the  former 
in  the  most  vehement  manner.  Mendelssohn  wrote 
little  in  German  ;  nevertheless,  we  may  point  to  aft 
epilogue  from  his  pen  to  the  new  edition  of  Lissagaray’s 


ENGELS’  HOUSE  AND  HIS  “  EVENINGS  ”  219 

History  of  the  Paris  Commune ,  as  a  proof  of  his  great 
talent  for  the  critical  treatment  of  historical  events. 

Whether  the  famous  mathematician,  Sonia  Kova- 
levska,  ever  visited  Marx  or  Engels  I  do  not  know. 
They,  too,  occupied  themselves  largely  with  mathematical 
problems.  Engels  once  told  me  that  the  only  questions 
over  which  he  and  Marx  had  ever  seriously  quarrelled 
were  mathematical  questions.  But  Sonia’s  cousin,  the 
sociologist :L  Maxine  Kovalevski,  who  died  last  year,  as 
a  member  of  the  Russian  Duma,  was  a  frequent  visitor. 
He  was  among  their  correspondents  ;  and  in  my  time 
he  was  numbered  now  and  then  among  Engels’  guests. 
Less  frequently  Engels  was  visited  by  the  two  valiant 
founders  of  the  Marxist  Social  Democracy  of  Russia, 
Paul  Axelrod  and  George  Plechanov.  To  them  the 
journey  to  London,  where  they  met  the  honoured  master 
of  the  Marxist  doctrine,  was  a  kind  of  pilgrimage.  But 
the  third  person  in  their  alliance,  Vera  Sassulitch,  who 
became  known  to  Western  Europe  on  account  of  an 
attempted  assassination,  remained  for  some  time  in 
London,  and  during  this  time  was,  of  course,  one  of 
Engels'  guests.  Although  she  came  of  a  wealthy 
middle-class  family  she  was  in  appearance  and  bearing 
the  very  antithesis  of  Maria  Mendelssohn.  In  the 
presence  of  these  two  women,  who  for  that  matter  were 
on  very  friendly  terms,  one  was  apt  to  reflect  on  the 
difference  between  their  respective  civilisations.  One 
of  them,  Maria  Mendelssohn,  was  completely  the  highly 
cultivated  woman  of  the  world  of  Western  Europe  ; 
Vera  Sassulitch,  on  the  contrary,  was  wholly  the  repre¬ 
sentative  of  a  rural  semi-civilisation.  She  was  an  ex¬ 
traordinarily  diligent  worker,  and  pathetically  modest ; 
but  in  respect  of  even  the  most  elementary  claims  of 
aesthetics  she  was  far  less  exacting  than  Rousseau  himself. 
In  her  indifference  to  everything  that  embellished  life, 
she,  who  professed  the  Western  European  conception 


220 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


of  the  theory  of  Socialism,  behaved,  in  practical  matters, 
as  regards  her  standard  of  life,  as  a  Populist  of  the  deepest 
dye  could  but  behave.  It  speaks  well,  indeed,  for  her 
sincerity  that  all  who  came  to  know  her  more  intimately 
willingly  overlooked  this  peculiarity.  Maria  Mendelssohn 
and  Engels  himself  were  quite  peculiarly  tactful  in  this 
respect.  However  free  and  easy  Engels  might  be,  and 
however  democratic  in  his  relations  with  his  political 
friends,  he  was  nevertheless  respected  as  the  master  of 
the  house,  and  he  never  forgot  the  excellent  manners 
which  he  had  learned  in  his  parents’  house  ;  and  as 
master  of  the  house  he  was  skilful  in  contriving  that 
even  in  moments  of  the  greatest  extravagance  his  circle 
of  guests  always  preserved  a  tone  which  was  true,  let 
us  say,  to  the  demands  of  a  cultivated  taste. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND 


THE  Socialist  movement  of  our  time  derives  its 
energy  chiefly  from  two  great  arteries  of 
social  life.  One  is  the  class  struggle  of  the 
modern  workers  for  the  improvement  of  their  material, 
political,  educational,  and  social  standards  ;  the  other 
is  the  ideological  school  of  thought  which  aims  at  social 
reform.  Each  of  these  arteries  is  to  a  certain  extent 
connected  with  the  other,  is  influenced  by  it,  and  reacts 
upon  it.  But  this  connection  is  not  always  obvious  ; 
not  infrequently  it  is  misunderstood  or  even  at  times 
denied  by  the  interested  parties.  The  ideologists  of 
speculative  socialism,  the  Utopians,  were,  in  the  sixteenth, 
seventeenth,  and  eighteenth  centuries,  and  during  some 
part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  unfamiliar  with  the  class 
conflict  of  the  progressive  proletariat,  and  were  repelled 
by  the  crudities  and  inequalities  of  the  latter.  Those 
engaged  in  the  class  conflict,  on  the  other  hand,  looked 
down  upon  the  ideologists  as  well-meaning  but  un¬ 
practical  reformers.  Only  in  the  nineteenth  century 
did  the  parties  concerned  become  increasingly  conscious 
of  a  mutual  penetration,  which  according  to  the  doctrine 
of  Marx  and  Engels,  finds  its  theoretical  justification 
in  the  mutual  relation  of  the  material  and  ideological 
forces  in  history. 

But  the  synthesis  here  indicated  is  not  immediately 

translated  into  practical  reality.  A  certain  divorce 

persists.  Ideology  and  the  class  conflict  do  not  follow 

221 


222 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


precisely  the  same  path  ;  above  all,  the  rhythm  of  their 
movement  is  not  the  same.  Ideology  is  in  itself  inclined 
to  outstrip  the  class  conflict  and  to  prescribe  its  path, 
appealing  to  it  and  diverting  it  from  its  goal.  And 
since  the  class  conflict  is  not  immune  from  interruptions 
or  from  wandering  for  the  time  being  into  blind  alleys, 
the  ideologists  are  not  always  in  the  wrong. 

This  alternate  association  and  separation,  conflict 
and  correction,  may  best  be  studied  in  the  history  of 
modern  Socialism  in  England.  As  a  class  movement 
it  had  already  put  up  a  good  fight,  and  suffered  defeat, 
while  on  the  Continent  Socialism  was  still  a  pure  specu¬ 
lation.  Hence  the  great  Socialist  class  movement  of 
1837-48  in  England  which  we  know  as  Chartism  was 
burdened  even  at  the  outset  with  the  recollection  of 
two  significant  defeats  which  the  workers  had  suffered, 
which  had  more  to  do  with  the  path  which  the  movement 
followed,  and  its  internal  conflicts,  than  most  authors 
who  have  written  of  it  have  realised.  The  defeat  of 
Chartism  itself,  which  as  a  political  party  completely 
disappeared  from  the  stage  in  the  fifties  of  the  last 
century,  had  a  depressing  effect  upon  the  working-class 
movement  of  the  following  decades,  and  deprived  it  of 
that  element  of  independent  ideology  without  which  any 
movement  is  in  danger  of  revolving  in  a  circle  and 
becoming  the  raw  material  of  other  activities.  This 
limitation  of  the  intellectual  elasticity  of  the  Labour 
movement  in  England  increased  when  the  International 
Workers’  Association,  which  seemed  for  a  moment 
destined  to  resuscitate  the  movement,  was  dissolved 
in  1872-73.  The  class  ideal  fell  into  utter  discredit, 
and  the  practical  movement  degenerated  more  and 
more  into  the  most  downright  utilitarianism  and 
opportunism. 

But  then,  with  the  beginning  of  the  eighties,  the 
Socialist  ideology  received  a  fresh  access  of  strength  ; 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  223 


not  entirely,  at  first,  nor  even  substantially  from  the 
militant  Labour  circles,  but  for  some  considerable 
time,  and  in  a  greater  degree,  from  a  portion  of  the 
“  intellectuals  ”  of  the  various  strata  of  the  middle 
classes.  What  was  happening  in  England  at  that 
time  reminds  one  in  many  respects  of  the  St.^  Simonian 
movement  in  France  about  1830.  Officials,  scientists, 
men  of  letters,  artists,  and  scholars  of  either  sex  con- 


- 

and  debates,  and  the  celebrated  meetings  in  the  Rue 


Monsigny,  the  Rue  Taranne,  and  the  Rue  Taitbout  in 
Paris  found  a  parallel  in  London.  Here  were  the  same 
enthusiasm,  the  same  schisms,  the  same  impregnation 
of  public  opinion  as  there  ;  with  the  difference  that 
while  in  Paris  St.  Simonism  was  an  actual  stumbling- 
block  to  a  Labour  movement  which  remained  immersed 
in  small  middle-class  undertakings,  and  evaporated  as  a 
Socialist  ideology,  so  that  at  last  only  a  small  group  of 
Liberal  politicians  and  writers  were  all  that  was  left  of 
the  real  school  of  St.  Simon,  in  England  the  adepts 
of  the  new  doctrine  had  to  deal  with  an  already  existing, 
fairly  powerful,  and  self-conscious  Labour  movement. 
In  order  to  obtain  influence  over  it  they  sought  to 
permeate  it  with  their  inspiring  range  of  ideas,  and  to  a 
certain  degree  they  did  actually  do  so.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  London  as  in  Paris  the  new  movement  pro¬ 
duced  a  considerable  number  of  persons  who  in  respect 
of  their  talents  and  capacities  raised  themselves  far 
above  the  average  of  their  class,  and  won  their  way  to 
respectable  positions  in  public  life. 

In  earlier  chapters  of  these  memoirs  I  have  already 
named  some  of  the  leaders  of  this  new  Socialist  move¬ 
ment,  and  have  said  something  of  them.  I  think  I  shall 
be  justified,  however,  in  devoting  a  special  chapter  to 
the  most  noteworthy  of  its  representatives  with  whom  I 
have  come  into  contact  in  one  way  or  another.  At  the 


224 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


same  time,  it  will  be  understood  that  I  shall  not  stand 
upon  the  chronological  order  of  my  acquaintance  with 
them,  nor  yet  upon  the  order  of  their  importance.  At 
the  same  time,  I  will  make  a  beginning  with  that  one  of 
the  English  Socialists  who  is  to-day  most  widely  known 
all  the  world  over  :  George  Bernard  Shaw. 

I  first  heard  Shaw  speak  in  the  autumn  of  1888,  at 
a  meeting  in  Willis’  Rooms,  a  fashionable  hall  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  St.  James’s.  There  the  members 
of  the  Fabian  Society  gave  lectures,  in  accordance 
with  a  prearranged  plan,  upon  various  aspects  of 
Socialism,  which  were  afterwards  published  in  collected 
form  under  the  title  of  Fabian  Essays  in  Socialism. 
Shaw  gave  the  first  and  the  last  lecture  of  the  series, 
and  also  contributed  to  enliven  the  debates  after  the 
other  lectures.  Each  lecture  was  of  course  subjected, 
the  same  evening,  to  an  animated  discussion,  and  among 
the  Fabians  it  was  quite  good  form  to  question  the 
speaker,  whoever  he  might  be,  in  a  thoroughly  critical 
spirit.  In  this  province  of  debate  Shaw  was  a  master. 
Although  he  had  not  yet  come  to  the  fore  as  a  dramatist, 
he  was  already  celebrated  in  Socialist  circles,  and  beyond 
them,  as  an  original  thinker,  and  was  a  great  favourite 
as  a  speaker.  An  evening  on  which  he  did  not  speak 
was  regarded  by  a  great  part  of  the  audience  at  the 
Fabian  meetings  almost  as  an  evening  wasted.  Shaw 
is  a  tall  man,  and  had  (for  it  is  now  fairly  grey)  reddish 
fair  hair  and  sharply-cut  features.  His  voice  is  not 
particularly  powerful,  but  he  speaks  in  a  clear  tone, 
usually  without  emotion  ;  yet  he  is  often  impressive,  and 
as  witty  as  he  is  knowledgeable.  His  chief  defect  is 
that  he  knows  only  too  well  that  his  hearers  expect 
paradoxes  of  him  ;  hence  he  is  over-ready  to  indulge 
in  them,  so  that  those  who  do  not  know  their  man  are 
easily  led  to  believe  that  he  is  merely  a  cynical  jester. 
And  Shaw  is  anything  but  that.  His  is  really  a  very 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  225 


serious  nature,  and  he  is  a  very  conscientious  worker. 
His  essays,  to  which  we  must  of  course  add  the  prefaces 
to  his  plays,  betray  a  writer  who  is  a  penetrating 
thinker  and  an  extremely  well-read  and  scholarly  man. 
For  a  long  time  he  was  a  regular  visitor  to  the  British 
Museum,  where  one  might  often  see  him  buried  in  books. 
Of  the  collected  edition  of  the  Fabian  Essays,  which 
Shaw  saw  through  the  press,  Edward  Pease,  for  many 
years  the  general  secretary  of  the  Fabian  Society,  writes, 
in  his  recently  published  History  of  the  Fabian  Society  : 

“  Bernard  Shaw  was  the  editor,  and  those  who  have 
worked  with  him  know  that  he  does  not  take  his  duties 
as  .an  editor  lightly.  He  corrected  his  own  essays 
copiously  and  repeatedly,  and  did  as  much  for  all  that 
he  was  responsible  for.  The  high  literary  level  which 
the  Fabian  Tracts  maintain  is  largely  due  to  continual 
revisions  and  corrections,  which  are  principally  due 
to  Sidney  Webb  and  Bernard  Shaw,  even  though  the 
tracts  thus  corrected  may  be  published  as  the  work  of 
another.” 

That  Shaw’s  advocacy  of  Socialism  was  serious  he 
has  proved  by  decades  of  activity  on  behalf  of  the  move¬ 
ment  as  a  helper  in  every  possible  kind  of  propagandist 
work.  He  considered  nothing  too  good  for  it,  and  with 
friends  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  displayed  a  great 
catholicity  in  respect  of  the  conflicting  groups  and 
factions.  They  defended  their  own  particular  policy, 
but  did  not  allow  this  to  deter  them  from  speaking  for 
Socialist  societies  which  professed  a  different  policy, 
since  to  them  the  movement  as  a  whole  meant  more 
than  their  own  particular  doctrines.  “We  did  not 
keep  ourselves  to  ourselves,”  wrote  Shaw  in  this  con¬ 
nection  ;  “we  helped  the  Labour  organisations  in 
every  possible  way,  and  they  were  very  glad  to  have  us. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  difference  between  us  and  them 
15 


226 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


was  that  we  were  working  for  all  and  they  were  working 
only  for  their  own  associations.” 

He  also  mentions,  in  parenthesis,  the  word  “  per¬ 
meation,”  whereby  we  are  reminded  that  the  Fabians 
regarded  it  as  their  especial  function  not  to  form  a 
party  of  their  own,  but  as  far  as  possible  to  permeate 
the  existing  parties  and  political  associations  with 
Socialism  as  they  understood  it.  To  quote  one  of 
their  publications,  they  wished  to  be  "  the  Jesuits  of 
Socialism.”  “  The  real  reason,”  Shaw  continues,  “  why 
we  specialised  in  debate  and  literary  work  was  this,  that 
the  workers  could  not  keep  step  with  us  or  could  not 
tolerate  our  social  customs.”  The  majority  of  the 
Fabians  belonged,  either  by  birth  or  by  position,  to 
the  middle  classes,  and  as  they  were  accustomed  to 
criticise  the  traditional  Socialism,  particularly  the  doctrine 
of  Marx  as  then  preached  by  Hyndman,  Aveling,  and 
others,  in  a  somewhat  superior  tone,  they  were  in  bad 
odour  with  many  of  the  representatives  of  proletarian 
Socialism,  as  drawing-room  Socialists,  who  regarded 
themselves  as  “  superior  persons.” 

For  a  long  time  I  had  a  prejudice  against  the  Fabians, 
and  therefore  refrained  from  personal  relations  with 
them.  Their  whole  tone  and  method  of  procedure  was 
so  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  the  movement  as  I  conceived 
it  that  when  listening  to  their  discussions  I  often  felt 
somewhat  chilled.  So  as  long  as  I  lived  in  England  I 
had  little  personal  intercourse  with  Shaw,  and  if  for 
once  we  had  some  conversation  together  it  soon  became 
obvious  that  there  was  a  lack  of  concord  between  us,  as 
though  inhabitants  of  two  different  worlds  were  in¬ 
dulging  in  a  polite  exchange  of  opinion  without  the  ad¬ 
vantage  of  a  common  terminology.  One  needs  a  great 
deal  of  time  and  a  good  knowledge  of  history  before  one 
can  really  understand  another  people.  H.  M.  Hyndman, 
who  for  many  a  year  was  the  sworn  champion  of  Marx, 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  227 


striving  to  compel  the  English  to  acknowledge  him, 
once  told  me  that  he  did  not  believe  that  Marx  had  ever 
properly  understood  England,  and  it  may  well  be  a 
fact  that  the  author  of  Capital ,  who  knew  so  much  of 
England,  and  excelled  so  many  English  writers  in  his 
analytical  criticism  of  the  social  and  political  evolution  of 
the  English,  never  completely  penetrated  the  English 
national  mind. 

Often,  of  course,  the  contrast  is  more  apparent  than 
real,  and  many  things  contribute  to  the  opposite  mis¬ 
conception,  that  the  ideas  connoted  by  similar  political 
expressions  do  not  completely  coincide. 

Some  little  time  afterwards,  in  Bradford,  at  a  Con¬ 
gress  established  by  the  Independent  Labour  Party, 
at  which  we  were  both  present,  Shaw  disconcerted  me 
by  remarking,  in  the  course  of  a  speech,  that  he  did  not 
believe  in  a  class  conflict  on  the  part  of  the  English 
workers.  He  had  plainly  stated,  in  Bradford,  that  the 
Fabians  would  not  enter  the  Independent  Labour  Party, 
and  I  had  interpellated  him  on  that  account.  But  before 
a  year  had  elapsed  the  same  Shaw  wrote,  in  collaboration 
with  Webb,  the  call  to  battle,  “  To  your  tents,  O  Israel !  ” 
which  first  appeared  in  the  Fortnightly  Review ,  and  then 
as  a  Fabian  Tract,  summoning  the  organised  workers 
of  England  to  turn  their  backs  upon  the  Liberal  Party 
and  to  form  a  great  fund  to  facilitate  the  election  of 
Independent  Labour  candidates,  and  a  little  later  the 
executive  branch  of  the  Fabian  Society,  to  which  Shaw 
belonged,  advised  the  branch  Societies  in  the  provinces 
that  when  a  branch  of  the  Independent  Labour  Party 
existed  in  the  same  place  they  should  join  it,  in  order  to 
avoid  a  division  of  forces,  and  give  up  their  own  organisa¬ 
tion.  To  a  great  extent  Shaw  practised  what  we  Ger¬ 
mans  understand  as  the  class  conflict,  but  did  not  accept 
the  name,  because  to  him  it  had  quite  another  connota¬ 
tion.  To  his  mind  the  Socialist  movement  extends  far 


228 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


beyond  the  class  to  which  we  look  for  its  real  supporters, 
and  his  faith  in  the  self-sacrificing  energy  of  this  class 
is  slight.  He  is  conscious  that  he  himself  is  a  Socialistic 
ideologist,  but  his  is  too  critical  a  mind  to  swear  fealty 
to  abstract  ideas.  In  his  ideology  he  is  a  realist ;  one 
might  say,  paradoxical  though  it  may  sound,  a  critical 
ideologist,  and  perhaps  this  paradox  might  serve  as  a 
key  to  many  apparent  contradictions  in  his  behaviour. 

As  a  writer  Shaw  won  his  spurs  in  the  province  of 
journalism,  which  has  been  the  school  of  so  many 
significant  personalities  in  the  world  of  literature,  and 
is  intrinsically  more  highly  valued  in  England  than  in 
Germany.  To  begin  with,  he  displayed  his  quality  as  a 
satirist.  He  was  still  a  more  or  less  unknown  beginner 
when  one  day,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Shelley  Society,  taking 
part  in  the  discussion  after  a  lecture,  and  deriding  the 
partial  tone  of  the  literary  artist  affected  by  the  lecturer 
and  the  speakers  in  the  debate,  he  explained,  as  an 
introduction,  that  he  was  not  sure  whether  he  was  really 
justified  in  speaking  before  the  Society,  since  he  was  a 
Socialist,  an  atheist,  and  a  vegetarian — and  it  was  well 
known  that  Shelley  also  was  all  three.  His  position  in 
journalism  was  that  of  musical  critic  on  the  staff  of  a 
Radical  evening  paper,  the  Star ,  and  his  criticisms, 
signed  “  Corno  di  Bassetto,”  were  read  with  great  enjoy¬ 
ment,  not  by  lovers  of  music  alone.  But  he  struck  a 
severer  note  as  critic  of  the  representative  arts  when  he 
became  dramatic  critic  for  the  Saturday  Review.  His 
campaign  for  the  reform  of  opera,  since  Wilhelm  Wagner 
had  shown  him  the  way,  had  only  been  the  prelude  to  a 
campaign  for  the  reform  of  the  theatres  in  general,  in 
which  Ibsen  was  his  standard-bearer.  With  relentless 
satire  he  took  the  field  against  the  reign  of  the  conven¬ 
tional  upon  the  English  stage,  and  he  scourged  the  con¬ 
temporary  English  drama usts,  who  surfeited  the  British 
public  with  discussions  which  did  not  strictly  speaking 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  229 


touch  upon  any  of  the  serious  problems  of  the  day.  The 
most  prominent  English  tragedian  of  the  day,  Henry 
Irving,  because  he  confined  himself  to  the  production  of 
the  plays  of  Shakespeare  and  other  poets  who  never  went 
beyond  the  portrayal  of  humanity,  found  in  Shaw  an 
implacable,  almost  a  cruel  critic.  I  have  a  lively  recol¬ 
lection  of  an  article  which  Shaw  entitled  “  Mr.  Irving 
'  takes  Paregoric,’ ’  in  which  he  attacked  Irving  for 
putting  a  pious  and  melodramatic  curtain-raiser  on  the 
stage,  in  which  he  played  the  part  of  an  elderly  invalid 
with  a  bad  cough.  For  such  melodramatic  effects, 
Shaw  continues,  one  requires  no  theatre  and  no  experi¬ 
enced  actor  ;  any  beginner  can  produce  them.  In  which 
he  was  assuredly  and  essentially  right. 

With  his  own  plays  Shaw  conquered  the  English 
stage  but  slowly.  The  first  of  them  was  produced  by 
the  Norwegian,  J.  T.  Grein,  at  the  Independent  Theatre, 
before  an  invited  public,  and  it  was  the  leading  lady  of 
a  provincial  company  who  first  undertook  to  offer  a  play 
of  Shaw’s  to  the  great  London  public.  This  play,  which 
draws  its  title  Arms  and  the  Man  from  the  first  fine 
of  the  iEneid,  is  a  satire  on  the  romantic  conception  of 
heroism  in  war,  which  demands  such  innumerable 
sacrifices.  Shaw  intended  originally  to  allow  the  action 
to  take  place  in  the  theatre  of  some  English  war,  but, 
in  order  that  it  should  not  be  excluded  from  the  English 
stage,  he  finally  laid  the  scene  of  it  in  Bulgaria  at  the 
time  of  the  Serbo-Bulgarian  War  of  1885.  Thus  it  could 
be  played  in  London,  and  it  was  accorded  a  favourable 
reception.  But  the  author  found  a  larger  public  for  his 
play  in  the  United  States.  There  he  was  already  a 
recognised  dramatist  at  a  time  when  in  England  he  was 
only  beginning  to  be  accepted  as  such. 

Yet  Shaw  can  be  wholly  understood  only  in  England, 
or  by  people  who  know  England  thoroughly.  His  plays 
apply  the  lash  to  conditions  and  habits  for  which  analogies 


230 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


may  be  found  all  the  world  over,  so  that  they  find  the 
sore  spot  everywhere.  But  they  have,  nevertheless,  too 
much  local  colour  to  be  understood  correctly  in  all  their 
subtleties.  In  a  new  edition  Shaw  described  how  he 
had  been  present  at  a  representation  of  his  Candida 
in  Germany,  and  to  his  astonishment  saw  that  the  actor 
who  played  the  part  of  Parson  Morell  did  so  in  pastoral 
clothing,  and  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  clergyman, 
which  was  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  Shaw’s  descrip¬ 
tion  of  the  parson.  To  me  this  seems  comprehensible 
enough.  The  actor  had  read  in  the  book  that  Morell 
was  a  Christian  Socialist  parson,  and  had  therefore  prob¬ 
ably  taken  some  German  example  as  his  model,  and 
acting  upon  the  conception  of  the  English  Church  pre¬ 
vailing  in  Germany,  he  must  have  thought  that  he  ought 
to  allow  the  ecclesiasticism  of  the  character  to  appear 
rather  more  plainly  than  in  his  prototype. 

However  erroneous  this  hypothesis  was,  I  should  like 
to  make  a  few  observations  relating  to  these  representa¬ 
tives  of  Christian  Socialism  in  England.  I  had  occasion 
to  make  their  acquaintance,  and  I  know  from  them  that 
Shaw  had  had  extensive  dealings  with  them,  and  had 
co-operated  with  them. 

The  most  remarkable  personality  among  the  Christian 
Socialists  is  the  Reverend  Stewart  Headlam,  now  in  his 
seventies,  who  is,  if  I  mistake  not,  vicar  of  one  of  the 
London  churches.  Shaw  had  him  in  mind  when  he 
made  Morell  an  active  member  of  the  Guild  of  St. 
Matthew,  an  association  of  clergymen  interested  in 
social  reform,  which  was  founded  by  Headlam  toward 
the  end  of  the  seventies,  and  of  which  he  is  probably 
still  the  president.  The  life  of  this  man,  who  was  a 
pupil  of  the  admirable  Frederick  Denison  Maurice,  has 
been  a  continual  struggle  for  definite  progress  in  the  most 
varied  departments  of  social  life.  For  a  long  time  he 
was  deprived  of  the  right  to  officiate  by  the  Bishop  of 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  231 


London,  and  only  when  the  see  was  filled  by  a  Liberal 
bishop  was  the  ban  removed.  Headlam,  when  the 
Radical  free-thinker  Bradlaugh,  with  whom  he  had 
many  a  tussle  on  religious  questions,  was  excluded  from 
Parliament,  because  of  his  refusal  to  take  the  oath,  and 
was  to  have  been  imprisoned  by  order  of  Parliament, 
energetically  espoused  his  cause,  and  agitated  for  the 
abolition  of  the  compulsory  oath  upon  the  Bible,  and  the 
penal  laws  against  blasphemy.  In  1 888  he  was  elected 
to  the  School  Board  by  a  working-class  district  in  the 
East  End  of  London,  since  when  he  has  sat  upon  it  or 
its  successor  constantly  as  a  member  of  the  Radical 
Progressive  Party,  working  there  and  elsewhere  for  the 
secularisation  of  the  schools.  He  is  a  warm  advocate 
of  the  theatre,  and  has  founded,  with  the  help  of  his 
fellow-clergy,  a  “  Church  and  Stage  ”  Society  in  order 
to  increase  its  value  for  the  people.  He  has  also  spoken 
and  written  in  support  of  the  ballet  as  a  means  of  training 
the  sense  of  beauty  of  form  and  movement.  “  No  man,” 
said  the  Socialist  Labour  Annual  for  1895,  “  is  more  hated 
by  sycophantic  Bishops  than  he  is,  and  no  one  has  a 
profounder  influence  over  the  younger  clergy.”  No  man, 
I  may  add  from  my  own  experience,  displays  less  of  the 
pastoral  character  in  his  appearance  and  conversation 
than  this  clergyman  of  the  Established  Church  of 
England. 

Even  before  I  came  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Stewart  Headlam,  I  had  occasion  to  revise  my  ideas  of 
the  English  clergyman  in  respect  of  one  of  his  younger 
colleagues.  In  the  winter  of  1889-90  I  received,  through 
Eleanor  Marx,  an  invitation  to  a  “  social  evening  ” 
which  was  given  for  its  members  by  a  co-operative  con¬ 
sumer’s  society  founded  by  the  gasworkers  in  the  remote 
East  End  of  London  —  namely,  in  Canning  Town. 
“  The  Reverend  Morris  will  take  the  chair,”  I  read  on  the 
invitation  card.  I  resigned  myself  to  an  address  full  of 


232 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


religious  advice.  But  it  was  not  at  all  what  I  expected. 
When  the  entertainment  was  about  to  begin  there  rose 
upon  the  platform,  from  the  place  appointed  for  the 
chairman,  a  slender,  black-haired  man  about  thirty-five 
years  of  age,  who  delivered  a  short  address  explaining 
the  value  of  the  organisation,  just  as  any  Socialist  lay¬ 
man  might  have  done.  But  the  entertainment  over 
which  he  presided  consisted  almost  exclusively  of  re¬ 
citations  and  songs  of  a  hearty  and  humorous  character, 
the  refrains  of  these  last  being  sung  by  all  present,  while 
“  Brother  Bob  ”  beat  time.  “  Brother  Bob  ”  was  the 
name  which  the  working  men — why,  no  one  rightly 
knew — had  bestowed  upon  Morris,  who  in  reality,  like 
his  famous  namesake  the  poet,  bore  the  Christian  name  of 
William.  He  had  a  better  claim  to  the  title  of  “  Brother  ” 
than  to  the  name  of  “  Bob/’  since  among  the  members 
of  the  Radical  “  New  Unions  ”  of  those  days  it  was  used 
in  the  same  sense  as  “  comrade  ”  among  our  German 
Socialist  working  men.  A  thoroughly  earnest  supporter 
of  the  Labour  movement,  the  Reverend  William  Morris 
was  held  in  great  esteem  by  the  Socialist  workers  of 
London.  After  he  had  taken  his  degree  at  Oxford  he 
was  appointed  curate  in  one  of  the  lowest  quarters  of 
South  London,  where  he  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  poorest 
inhabitants,  to  whom  he  devoted  all  his  energies.  He 
founded  a  club  whose  members  he  won  over  to  Socialism, 
and  a  tiny  room  partitioned  off  from  the  billiard-room, 
with  just  enough  space  for  his  bed  and  his  books,  was 
all  his  lodging.  In  this  club  the  .May-day  demonstra¬ 
tions  of  the  London  workers,  which  had  such  important 
results  in  the  early  nineties,  were  first  discussed  and 
determined  upon.  The  Club  even  published  a  Socialist 
newspaper,  but  was  unable  to  carry  it  on.  After  ten 
years’  activity  there  Morris  was  appointed  Vicar  of  St. 
Anne’s,  Vauxhall.  But  his  exhausting  work  among  the 
poor  seemed  to  have  undermined  his  health.  A  strong 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  233 


man  when  I  became  acquainted  with  him,  he  died  at 
a  comparatively  early  age.  The  alliteration  of  Morris 
and  Morell  and  the  personal  description  of  Morell  in 
Shaw’s  Candida ,  gave  me  the  idea  that  the  dramatist 
had  taken  “  Brother  Bob  ”  as  his  model. 

Another  Christian  Socialist,  the  Reverend  Percy 
Dearmer,  had  nothing  at  all  of  the  priest  about  him.  I 
had  the  opportunity  of  observing  him  at  several  meetings 
of  English  Socialists.  On  the  other  hand,  as  a  contrast 
to  these  and  other  clergymen,  the  great  English  free¬ 
thinker,  Charles  Bradlaugh,  the  only  time  I  heard  him, 
gave  me  quite  the  impression  of  a  clergyman. 

It  was  at  a  very  memorable  meeting  that  I  saw  him. 
It  was  held  in  St.  James’s  Hall,  Piccadilly,  in  the  early 
summer  of  1889,  in  the  honour  of  the  leader  of  the  Irish 
Home  Rulers,  Henry  Stewart  Parnell,  then  at  the  height 
of  his  fame.  He  had  just  been  acquitted,  before  a  legal 
commission,  of  complicity  in  the  assassinations  committed 
by  Irish  revolutionists.  Besides  Parnell,  a  number  of 
the  best-known  leaders  of  English  Liberalism  and 
Radicalism  were  to  speak  at  this  meeting,  and  in  spite 
of  the  high  price  of  admission  the  hall  and  the  galleries 
were  packed.  I  was  able,  for  a  shilling,  to  obtain  stand¬ 
ing-room  right  at  the  back  of  one  of  the  upper  galleries, 
and  had  to  console  myself  with  the  fact  that  people 
who  had  paid  ten  times  as  much  had  to  stand  packed 
tight  in  the  gangways  below.  But  it  was  worth  the 
trouble.  I  heard  John  Morley  speak,  who  in  August 
1914  finally  justified  his  nickname  of  "  Honest  John  ” 
by  resigning  his  post  as  Cabinet  Minister  (his  salary  was 
£5000  a  year)  because  he  did  not  feel  that  he  could  share 
in  the  responsibility  for  England’s  entry  into  the  war. 
His  speech  at  this  meeting  culminated  in  a  vindication  of 
Parnell’s  policy.  Parnell,  Morley  declared,  had  been 
perfectly  right  when  in  1888  he  advised  his  party  to  vote 
more  especially  against  the  Liberals,  in  order  to  make 


234 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


them  dependent  upon  the  votes  of  the  Home  Rulers. 
That  is,  Morley  justified  a  policy  which  had  been 
grievously  injurious  to  his  own  party.  However,  the 
meeting  took  this  in  good  part.  As  on  his  first  appear¬ 
ance,  so  on  the  conclusion  of  his  speech  he  received  a 
great  ovation.  But  this  was  of  course  not  to  be  compared 
with  the  homage  paid  to  Parnell  when  he  came  forward. 
I  experienced  for  the  first  time  what  a  superabundance 
of  enthusiasm  these  English  are  capable  of,  whom  we 
describe  as  “  cold.”  All  rose  from  their  seats,  cheering 
over  and  over  again,  waving  their  handkerchiefs,  and 
finally  singing  in  unison,  "  For  he’s  a  jolly  good  fellow,” 
to  the  tune  which  we  know  as  that  of  “  Malbrouck  s’en 
va-t-en  guerre.”  This,  with  outbreaks  of  cheering,  was 
repeated  again  and  again  with  indescribable  jubilation. 
In  the  most  striking  contrast  to  the  warmth  of  this 
welcome  was  the  cool  tone  of  the  speech  of  the  man 
who  enjoyed  it.  Parnell  accepted  it  unmoved,  returned 
not  a  word  of  thanks  to  those  who  offered  it,  and  spoke 
only  of  Ireland,  of  her  grievances,  her  rights,  and  her 
demands.  In  accusation  he  occasionally  raised  his 
voice  :  otherwise  it  surprised  me  by  its  great  monotony. 
Parnell  was  one  of  those  people  who  are  very  seldom 
able  to  escape  from  their  reserve.  In  appearance  and  in 
reality  he  corresponded  to  the  picture  that  we  Germans 
have  conceived  of  the  typical  Englishman.  His  own 
Irish  colleagues  often  complained  of  his  unapproach¬ 
ableness.  It  is  related  that  when  one  day  a  member 
of  his  Parliamentary  party  was  eagerly  informing  him 
of  an  important  division  in  the  words,  “  Parnell,  our 
motion  has  gone  through,”  the  leader  at  first  merely 
replied,  almost  in  a  tone  of  rebuke,  “  Mister  Parnell, 
if  you  please.”  This  coldness  in  the  relations  between 
the  leader  and  his  party  evidently  goes  a  long  way  to 
explain  why  the  majority  of  the  party  comparatively 
quickly  decided  to  refuse  to  serve  under  him  when,  after 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  235 


the  exposure  of  the  O’Shea  divorce  case,  Gladstone 
demanded  his  retirement  from  the  leadership ;  other¬ 
wise  he,  Gladstone,  would  be  forced  to  withdraw  from 
the  Liberal  Party  and  abandon  the  Home  Rule  cam¬ 
paign. 

A  play  has  recently  been  performed  in  Germany 
which  deals  with  Parnell’s  relations  with  Mrs.  O’Shea 
and  his  repudiation  by  the  English  Liberals  with  whom 
he  had  bargained,  which  it  criticises  roundly  as  a  char¬ 
acteristic  example  of  “  British  hypocrisy.”  England, 
however,  is  not  the  only  country  in  which  an  affair 
that  so  sorely  infringes  the  current  morality  as  the 
adultery  of  a  party-leader  with  the  wife  of  a  fellow- 
member  of  the  party  makes  it  impossible  for  the  leader 
to  retain  his  position  :  if  not  at  first,  when  it  is  known 
only  to  a  few  of  the  initiated,  at  all  events  when  legal 
procedure  brings  it  to  the  knowledge  of  the  community. 
Everywhere  the  condemnation  of  the  great  majority 
becomes  apparent  only  “  when  it  all  comes  out.” 

Among  the  speakers  at  the  above-mentioned  meeting 
were  a  dissenting  minister,  the  Reverend  Berry  of 
Wolverhampton,  and  Charles  Bradlaugh,  the  atheistical 
free-thinker.  They  formed  a  curious  contrast.  The 
Nonconformists  are  regarded  as  the  real  hypocrites  of 
England.  But  Mr.  Berry  and  hypocrisy  appeared  to 
be  strangers  to  one  another.  Extremely  agile  in  his 
movements,  he  sprang  to  the  speaker’s  desk  almost  like 
an  acrobat,  and  in  his  address  he  exhibited  a  liveliness 
which  no  layman  could  exceed.  Bradlaugh’s  entrance 
upon  the  scene  was  very  different.  A  broad-shouldered, 
well-built  man,  there  was,  in  his  movements  as  well  as 
in  the  rather  emotional  tone  of  his  speech,  a  good  deal 
of  the  sort  of  behaviour  which  one  connects  with  the 
idea  of  a  clergyman,  so  that  an  uninitiated  person  who 
heard  him  and  the  Reverend  Berry  in  succession  might 
very  well  have  concluded  that  he  was  the  parson  and  the 


236 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


other  the  free-thinker.  At  all  events  there  stood  the 
man  who  had  once,  under  the  nom  de  guerre  of  “  Icono¬ 
clast/  ’  delivered  his  bold  assaults  upon  the  belief  in 
God,  the  monarchy,  the  ownership  of  land  and  other 
privileges,  and  had  cleared  the  way  for  many  reforms, 
already  in  the  evening  of  his  eventful  life  ;  for  he  died 
less  than  a  year  after  the  meeting.  In  his  earlier  years 
he  would  have  spoken  in  very  different  accents.  But  at 
that  time  his  appearance  disappointed  me,  while  the 
meeting  in  other  respects  made  an  immense  impression 
upon  me,  and  gave  me  some  idea  of  what  political 
excitement  really  means  in  England. 

In  the  Reverend  Thomas  Hancock  I  came  to  know  a 
Christian  Socialist  of  peculiar  selflessness.  A  product 
of  the  school  of  Kingsley  and  Maurice,  Hancock  had 
early  resigned  his  position  as  an  officiating  clergyman, 
and  only  occasionally  preached  a  sermon,  his  principal 
activity  being  that  of  research  in  the  great  library  of 
the  British  Museum.  In  particular  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  the  history  of  the  great  English  Revolution, 
and  by  the  labour  of  decades  had  amassed  an  enormous 
amount  of  material,  of  which  he  himself  made  no  use 
as  a  writer,  but  was  always  ready  to  communicate  to 
others.  When  I  obtained  an  introduction  to  him,  from 
Stewart  Headlam,  and  sent  him  my  treatise  on  “  Demo¬ 
cracy  and  Socialism  in  the  English  Revolution/’  which  was 
then  in  its  first  and  as  yet  quite  unfinished  state,  he  got 
a  common  acquaintance  to  bring  me  to  Harrow,  where 
he  was  living,  and  on  this  occasion  placed  whole  cup¬ 
boards  full  of  manuscript  at  my  disposal,  in  order  that 
I  might  go  through  it  and  make  free  use  of  it,  so  that  I 
could  work  upon  my  treatise  and  amplify  it,  as  I  had 
planned.  This  offer  overwhelmed  me  so  by  its  magnan¬ 
imity  that  I  could  not  at  once  make  up  my  mind  to  accept 
it.  At  first  I  merely  thanked  him,  but  neglected  to  make 
any  sort  of  arrangement  with  him ;  and  when  Hancock 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  237 


died  a  few  years  later  the  manuscripts  passed  into  the 
hands  of  his  heirs. 

When  my  treatise  appeared  the  President  of  theEnglish 
Historical  Society,  Professor  E.  H.  Firth,  was  likewise 
extremely  obliging.  He  wrote  me,  although  I  was  then 
completely  unknown  in  England,  a  long  letter,  in  which 
he  expressed  the  wish  to  see  the  book  published  in  English 
also,  entered  into  several  questions  which  I  had  touched 
upon,  and  a  little  later  visited  me  and  called  my  atten¬ 
tion  to  all  sorts  of  sources  which  were  so  far  unknown 
to  me.  All  this  was  done  in  such  an  unassuming  manner 
that  I  was  really  surprised  and  most  agreeably  affected. 
In  certain  German  newspapers  one  may  read  over  and 
over  again  that  the  Germans  are  the  only  people  who 
are  willing  to  do  a  thing  for  its  own  sake  ;  as  though 
there  were  not  in  every  nation  workers  in  different 
spheres  who  forget  themselves  and  their  interests  in  the 
subject  to  which  their  energies  are  devoted.  What 
other  motives  than  interest  in  the  subject  itself  could 
have  induced  Mr.  Hancock  and  Professor  Firth  to  have 
offered  so  handsomely  to  assist  me  in  my  literary  work 
I  will  leave  the  psychologists  to  determine. 

Eleanor  Marx  one  day  told  me  of  an  action  similar  to 
Mr.  Hancock’s.  No  one  had  attacked  the  Fabian 
Socialists  more  violently,  and  in  my  opinion  more 
|  unjustly,  than  she  and  her  husband.  One  day  at  the 
British  Museum  she  needed  some  books  which  had  just 
been  issued  to  another  applicant,  and  she  appealed  to 
the  Fabian,  Graham  Wallas,  with  the  request  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  look  over  his  library  on  a  given  day, 
as  she  knew  it  to  contain  these  books.  Shortly  after¬ 
wards  she  told  me — and  I  could  see  that  she  was  touched 
by  the  Fabian’s  generosity — that  Wallas  had  written 
to  her  to  the  effect  that  he  could  not  receive  her  on 
the  day  in  question,  as  he  would  be  away  from  home 

all  day,  but  he  had  told  his  housekeeper  to  show  her 

• 


238 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


into  the  library,  when  she  could  take  any  books  she 
needed. 

Graham  Wallas  is  a  contrast  to  the  Christian 
Socialists,  being  a  confirmed  secularist.  Himself  the 
son  of  a  clergyman,  and  originally  a  classical  philologist, 
in  1885  he  resigned  his  position  as  schoolmaster  because 
it  involved  the  obligation  to  communicate.  Since  then, 
thanks  to  years  of  activity  upon  the  London  School 
Board,  and  in  connection  with  the  secondary  education 
of  the  people,  he  has  acquired  great  authority  as  an 
expert  in  the  sphere  of  popular  education,  and  belongs 
to  various  public  examining  bodies.  He  has  published 
very  valuable  historical  works,  and  of  his  writings  on 
social  psychology  the  arresting  volume  on  Politics  and 
Human  Nature  was  translated  into  German  (Diederichs, 
Jena).  He  is  a  very  decided  democrat,  and  when  at 
the  beginning  of  August  1914  it  appeared  that  England 
was  in  danger  of  being  drawn  into  the  threatening 
European  War,  he  immediately  founded  a  “  Committee 
for  the  Neutrality  of  England  ”  of  persons  of  his  own 
way  of  thinking,  which  appealed  to  the  English  people, 
in  an  advertisement  filling  a  whole  page  of  the  chief 
English  newspapers,  to  oppose  England’s  participation 
in  the  war  in  the  most  energetic  manner.  Two  days 
later  England’s  declaration  of  war  upon  Germany,  as  a 
result  of  the  German  invasion  of  Belgium,  brought  the 
activities  of  the  Committee  to  a  sudden  end  ;  but  the 
failure  of  the  enterprise  does  not  diminish  the  good  will 
of  the  founder.  That  German  Social  Democracy  voted 
for  the  war  credits  must  have  been  a  great  disappoint¬ 
ment  to  Graham  Wallas,  for,  as  he  wrote  to  me  in  1911, 
he  had  the  greatest  hopes  of  this  party  as  a  guarantee 
of  European  peace.  But  however  greatly  the  war 
may  have  shaken  him,  he  never  deviated  from  his 
opinions,  which  are  those  of  a  good  European,  as  is 
proved  by  his  articles  in  the  Nation  and  similar  publica- 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  239 


tions.  As  a  writer  and  politician,  and  also  as  a  man, 
Wallas  is  an  unusually  sympathetic  personality,  ex¬ 
tremely  kindly  in  personal  matters,  and  equally  stead¬ 
fast  in  his  opinions  in  questions  of  principle.  Thus  in 
the  year  1904  he  withdrew  from  the  Fabian  Society, 
because  he  could  not  approve  either  of  its  attitude 
towards  the  Conservative  Government  in  respect  of  the 
educational  question,  or  of  the  Society’s  demonstration 
in  respect  of  Protection.  In  both  respects  he  felt  that 
the  Society’s  attitude  was  too  much  that  of  the  states¬ 
man  or  politician. 

However,  his  withdrawal,  writes  Edward  Pease,  in 
the  History  of  the  Fabian  Society,  was  “  not  accom¬ 
panied  by  any  of  those  personal  and  political  bicker¬ 
ings  which  so  often  accompany  the  rupture  of  relations 
of  long  standing.  Wallas  remained  a  Fabian  in  all 
but  the  name.  His  friendship  with  his  old  comrades 
remains  unaffected,  and  he  has  always  shown  himself 
ready  to  assist  the  Society,  whether  by  lecturing  at 
its  meetings  or  by  sharing  the  exceptionally  rich 
treasures  of  his  special  knowledge  at  its  congresses.” 

Wallas  was  introduced  to  the  Fabian  Society  by 
one  of  its  members,  Sidney  Olivier,  who  at  that  time 
was,  with  Sidney  Webb,  an  official  in  the  Colonial  Office. 
Unlike  Webb,  Olivier  has  remained  faithful  to  his 
official  vocation,  in  which  he  has  attained  a  very  high 
position,  which  has  not  deterred  him  from  joining 
the  Fabian  Society,  and  also  the  Socialist  combatant 
organisation,  the  Social  Democratic  Federation,  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  publicly  known  fact  of  his  belong¬ 
ing  to  these  Societies  has  not  prevented  his  promotion 
to  such  influential  positions  as  those  of  Financial 
Secretary  to  and  Governor  of  Jamaica.  In  this  con¬ 
nection  the  following  incident  is  particularly  signi¬ 
ficant  :  Olivier  was  already  Financial  Secretary  in 
Jamaica,  and  enjoying  a  short  period  of  leave  in  London, 


240 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


when  in  1897  he  strenuously  protested,  at  a  meeting  of 
the  Fabian  Society,  against  the  fact  that  the  executive 
committee  had  contributed  ten  shillings,  on  the  occasion 
of  Queen  Victoria’s  Diamond  Jubilee,  to  a  collection 
raised  for  the  purpose  of  decorating  the  Strand,  in 
which  the  offices  ot  the  Society  were  situated.  It  was 
not  fitting  that  the  Fabians,  who  professed  republican 
principles,  should  take  part  in  preparations  in  honour 
of  the  monarchy,  declared  the  man  whose  official  rank 
was  equal  to  that  of  a  Prussian  Governor  of  a  Pro¬ 
vince  ;  and  he  further  disallowed  the  excuse  that  the 
Committee  had  only  provided  the  sum  in  dispute 
because  it  had  made  ten  times  as  much  by  letting  the 
windows  of  the  Society’s  offices  to  sightseers,  so  that 
under  the  circumstances  it  would  have  felt  that  it  was 
mean  to  refuse  a  contribution  to  the  cost  of  decorating 
the  street.  The  spirit  in  which  Olivier  administered 
the  island  of  Jamaica  as  its  Governor  may  be  gathered 
from  his  book  upon  the  negro  question,  which  appeared 
in  1910,  under  the  title  of  White  Capital  and  Black 
Labour ,  in  the  “  Social  Science  Series,”  edited  by 
J.  Ramsay  Macdonald.  Relying  upon  his  experiences 
in  the  British  West  Indies,  Olivier  contradicted  many 
current  opinions  respecting  the  negro’s  capacities  for 
development,  and  the  effects  of  miscegenation.  In 
Jamaica  negroes  filled  positions  as  municipal  authorities, 
justices  of  the  peace,  etc.,  in  a  manner  which  in  every 
way  redounded  to  their  credit,  and  the  existence  of 
a  stratum  of  half-castes,  where  they  cannot  be  ex¬ 
cluded  from  attaining  a  higher  social  position  in  the 
future,  is  not  to  the  prejudice  of  a  country  with  a  large 
negro  population,  but  is  an  advantage.  It  is  a  pity 
that  this  book,  with  its  interesting  data,  has  not  been 
translated  into  German.  Jamaica  is  regarded  as  a 
model  by  many  Americans,  who  have  to  reckon  seriously 
with  the  negro  problem  in  the  United  States. 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  241 


Sidney  Webb  and  his  wife,  Mrs.  Beatrice  Webb- 
Potter,  are  well  known  in  Germany  through  the  trans¬ 
lation  of  their  classic  work  on  English  Trade  Unions 
and  the  English  Co-operative  movement,  and  many 
biographical  sketches  of  this  husband  and  wife,  who  are 
comrades  in  research  and  political  activity,  have  been 
published  in  Germany.  As  not  seldom  happens  in  the 
case  of  married  couples  who  devote  themselves  to 
literary  activities,  it  is  often  debated  which  of  them  is  the 
more  significant,  which  has  made  the  greater  intellectual 
contribution  to  their  joint  work  ;  the  ex-Civil  Service 
official,  Sidney  Webb,  who  worked  his  way  up,  step  by 
step,  with  iron  perseverance,  from  humble  circumstances, 
or  Beatrice  Potter,  the  daughter  of  a  railway  king,  a 
member  of  the  upper  middle  classes,  whom  Herbert 
Spencer  first  interested  in  sociological  research,  and  who, 
having  worked  for  a  long  time  among  the  poorest 
inhabitants  of  the  East  End  of  London,  in  a  spirit  of 
love  and  charity,  was  one  of  the  most  valuable  colla¬ 
borators  of  the  social  statistician,  Charles  Booth,  in  his 
great  work  upon  the  life  and  the  working  conditions  of 
the  English  poor.  I  have  met  various  Englishmen  who 
asserted  that  Beatrice  Webb  was  intellectually  superior 
to  her  husband,  but  I  think  this  opinion  is  founded  upon 
an  impression  which,  while  perfectly  comprehensible, 
psychologically  speaking,  is  nevertheless  merely  an 
impression,  not  an  adequately  founded  opinion.  People 
who  from  their  youth  upwards  have  enjoyed  a  superior 
education,  as  was  the  case  with  Beatrice  Potter,  exhibit 
as  a  rule,  in  intellectual  matters,  a  manner  which  makes 
them  appear  superior  to  those  who  have  obtained  this 
education  only  in  later  years,  although  their  knowledge 
need  not  on  this  account  be  more  profound  or  abundant 
than  that  of  the  latter.  I  have  repeatedly  observed 
i  this  phenomenon  when  mingling  with  academic 
Socialists  and  self-made  intellectuals  of  the  working 
16 


242 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


classes.  Something  of  this  situation  may  perhaps  have 
existed  during  the  early  years  of  the  Webb-Potter 
collaboration.  The  tall,  dark-eyed,  highly-gifted 
Beatrice,  with  her  finely-chiselled  features,  and  her 
arresting  conversational  powers,  certainly  made  a  greater 
impression  than  Sidney  Webb,  who  was  barely  of  medium 
height,  and,  in  his  earlier  years,  rather  dry  in  manner,  and 
who  took  a  long  time  to  shake  off  the  ex-bureaucrat. 
But  that  is  a  long  time  ago.  For  a  long  while  now  the 
intellectual  relations  of  husband  and  wife  have  been 
those  of  mutual  collaboration  and  completion,  and  if  it 
came  to  an  examination  in  general  knowledge  Sidney 
Webb  would,  I  am  convinced,  beat  his  wife  in  various 
directions.  He  is  absolutely  a  walking  encyclopaedia, 
a  fact  which  is  particularly  to  be  remarked  when  he  has 
to  answer  questions  or  is  heckled  in  debate.  To  work  up 
a  lecture  which  surprises  its  hearers  by  its  wealth  of 
material  data  is  not  particularly  difficult,  if  one  has  a 
certain  knowledge  of  the  literature  of  the  subject.  It 
is  only  by  the  manner  in  which  he  holds  his  ground  in 
debate  that  one  distinguishes  the  scholarly  and  experi¬ 
enced  expert  from  the  merely  dexterous  dilettante 
addicted  to  scholarly  pursuits.  Almost  every  time  I 
have  had  the  opportunity  of  attending  a  meeting  of  the 
Fabians  Webb  has  compelled  my  admiration  by  the 
assured  manner  in  which  he  has  given  replies  based  upon 
expert  knowledge  to  the  questions  addressed  to  him, 
however  remotely  they  might  be  connected  with  the 
subject  under  discussion.  His  is  manifestly  the  most 
powerful  brain  to  be  found  among  the  Fabians,  and 
to-day  he  gives  the  full  impression  of  being  the  man  of 
learning  that  he  is. 

Since  Beatrice  Webb  comes  of  a  wealthy  family,  the 
two  of  them  have  been  able  to  devote  themselves  com¬ 
pletely  to  the  study  of  social  and  political  reform,  and  to 
working  for  it,  without  having  to  accept  anything  from 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  243 


the  movement.  Except  that  he  has  been,  since  1892,  a 
member  of  the  London  County  Council  for  a  working- 
class  district  of  South-East  London,  which  regularly 
re-elects  him,  Webb  does  not  hold  any  important  political 
office,  although  he  and  his  wife  are  continually  being 
appealed  to  as  experts  in  connection  with  important 
Parliamentary  inquiries.  They  live  in  a  pleasant 
house  in  Grosvenor  Road,  Westminster,  which  runs 
from  the  north  bank  of  the  Thames  between  West¬ 
minster  and  Chelsea,  and,  like  so  many  London  streets, 
changes  its  character  in  different  sections.  A  visit  to 
the  Webbs  quickly  shows  one  that  one  is  dealing  with 
people  whose  chief  delight  is  research- work.  But  they 
must  not  be  regarded  as  closet-scholars.  Their  horizon 
has  a  wide  range.  Edward  Pease  writes  of  their  joint 
labours  that  as  regards  their  writings  it  is  impossible  to 
distinguish  exactly  between  Webb  and  his  wife.  From 
1905  to  1909  the  latter,  with  the  Socialist  George  Lans- 
bury,  was  a  member  of  a  Royal  Commission  on  poverty 
and  unemployment,  and  the  Minority  Report  which  she 
published  with  two  other  members  of  the  Commission, 
and  which  made  a  great  stir  by  reason  of  the  radicalism 
of  its  proposals,  and  was  extensively  utilised  by  the 
Labour  Party  in  Parliament  in  connection  with  their 
legislative  proposals,  was  regarded  as  chiefly  the  work 
of  Mrs.  Webb.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  according  to 
Pease,  “  the  inquiry,  the  findings,  and  the  final  con¬ 
clusions  were  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word  the  joint 
work  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Webb,”  and  the  manuscript  copy 
that  went  to  the  typists  was  in  Webb’s  handwriting. 
“  Frequently,”  adds  Pease,  “  Mrs.  Webb  gives  lectures 
from  manuscript  in  the  unusually  legible  handwriting 
of  her  husband  ;  her  own  handwriting  is — in  curious 
contrast  to  her  character — indecipherable  even  by 
herself  without  long  scrutiny.” 

A  similar  relation  to  that  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Webb 


244 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


existed  also  between  James  Ramsay  Macdonald  and  his 
distinguished  wife,  Margaret  Macdonald,  who  died  some 
years  ago.  Here  again  the  wife  came  from  the  wealthy 
classes,  while  the  husband  had  worked  his  way  up  from 
the  lower  strata  of  the  people.  Here  again  it  was  the 
Socialist  movement  which  brought  the  two  together  : 
Margaret  Gladstone,  a  niece  of  the  eminent  physicist, 
Lord  Kelvin  (William  Thompson),  and,  as  her  name 
denotes,  a  relation  of  the  statesman,  William  Ewart 
Gladstone,  and  James  Ramsay  Macdonald,  the  self- 
made  Scottish  agricultural  labourer  ;  and  in  this  case 
also  the  marriage  meant  community  of  Socialistic  labours. 
Their  work,  however,  was  rather  different  in  character 
from  that  of  the  Webbs.  The  work  undertaken  by  the 
Webbs  was  and  is  rather  work  for  the  Socialist  movement, 
while  Margaret  Macdonald  and  her  husband  devoted 
themselves  chiefly  to  work  of  organisation,  propaganda, 
and  administration  in  the  movement  ;  although  they 
did  literary  work  for  it  as  well.  As  everybody  knows, 
Ramsay  Macdonald  has  achieved  a  prominent  position 
as  a  Parliamentarian,  who  always  has  the  ear  of  the 
“  mother  of  Parliaments.”  A  resonant  voice  aids  the 
great  rhetorical  gifts  of  this  slenderly-built  man,  whose 
hair,  originally  black  as  the  raven,  is  now  thickly  inter¬ 
spersed  with  grey.  As  leader  of  the  Parliamentary 
representatives  of  the  great  British  Labour  Party,  Mac¬ 
donald  for  many  years  enjoyed  great  popularity,  until 
his  critical  and  hostile  attitude  in  respect  of  the  present 
war  rendered  him  impossible  to  a  considerable  portion 
of  the  workers.  However,  his  star  is  again  in  the  ascend¬ 
ant.  When,  about  a  year  ago,  he  ascended  the  plat¬ 
form  to  make  a  speech  at  a  National  Congress  of  the 
Labour  Party,  he  was,  despite  his  former  popularity, 
received  with  icy  coldness.  But  it  is  a  sign  of  his 
great  gifts  as  a  speaker  that  his  hearers  grew  more  and 
more  enthusiastic,  and  when  he  had  finished  it  seemed  as 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  245 


though  the  applause  would  never  end.  A  very  impres¬ 
sive  speech,  too,  was  that  in  which  Macdonald,  as  the 
spokesman  of  the  Labour  Party,  replied  to  Sir  Edward 
Grey,  when,  in  the  historical  session  of  the  3rd  of  August 
1914,  the  Foreign  Secretary  informed  the  House  that 
England  would  be  obliged  to  stand  beside  France  in  the 
war.  When  Grey  pointed  out  that  England’s  honour 
was  at  stake,  Macdonald  made  the  striking  rejoinder 
that  there  had  scarcely  been  a  war  which  had  not  been 
founded  upon  an  appeal  to  honour,  and  in  how  few 
instances  had  History  justified  the  use  of  the  word  ! 
Macdonald  has  now  been  dispatched  to  a  Socialist  Peace 
Conference  at  Stockholm  by  the  Independent  Labour 
Party,  of  which  he  is  also  a  member,  and  he  will  certainly 
be  of  those  who  are  in  favour  of  a  peace  without  an¬ 
nexations,  in  which  connection  it  must  of  course  not 
be  forgotten  that  in  May  1916  he  declared  in  Parlia¬ 
ment  that  Belgium  must  be  re-established  with  her 
original  territorial  area  and  her  independence  as  a 
state  undiminished.  “  The  sooner  Germany  rids 
herself  of  any  self-deception  in  that  connection  the 
better/^ 

Macdonald,  who,  as  often  happens  in  England,  entered 
political  life  as  the  secretary  of  a  Member  of  Parliament 
(the  Liberal  member,  T.  Lough),  is  the  author  of  various 
volumes  on  sociological  subjects,  one  of  which,  Social¬ 
ism  and  Government,  has  been  published  in  German 
(Diederichs,  Jena).  His  wife,  who  died  in  1913,  having 
borne  him  four  children,  has  been  beautifully  com¬ 
memorated  by  her  husband  in  a  memoir  which  he  first 
sent  only  to  friends  and  political  comrades,  but  later  on, 
by  the  wish  of  these  friends,  he  allowed  an  enlarged 
edition  of  it  to  be  published.  In  it  he  describes,  with 
great  warmth  of  emotion,  and  nobility  of  phrase,  how 
strong  was  the  intellectual  community  between  him  and 
his  dead  wife,  and  how  much  she  had  been  to  him  as  wife 


246 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


and  collaborator,  and  to  the  movement  as  a  self-sacri¬ 
ficing  champion  of  the  cause. 

An  enthusiastic  Socialist,  Margaret  Macdonald  did 
indeed  exhibit  the  most  unselfish  activity  in  the  various 
provinces  of  social  work,  devoting  herself  with  particular 
zeal  to  the  Socialistic  organisation  of  women  workers. 
Her  selfless  readiness  for  work,  combined  with  an  ex¬ 
tremely  winning  manner,  which  spoke  of  an  inexhaustible 
kindness  of  heart,  won  her  many  friends.  I  have  never 
heard  her  spoken  of  save  with  the  greatest  affection. 
This  affection  and  admiration  readily  overlooked  the 
fact  that  her  absorption  in  her  work  for  the  Socialist 
movement  made  her  unduly  indifferent  to  externals  of 
every  kind,  at  home,  and  in  respect  of  dress.  Once, 
when  I  happened  to  call  on  her  one  morning  two  years 
before  her  death,  on  the  occasion  of  a  temporary  sojourn 
in  London,  at  her  flat  in  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields,  I  found 
her,  at  a  table  in  the  middle  of  a  room  which  her  children, 
playing  around  her,  had  reduced  to  a  state  of  chaotic 
confusion  such  as  beggars  description,  quietly  engaged 
in  literary  work,  as  though  the  uproar  all  about  her  and 
the  condition  of  the  room  were  perfectly  in  order.  It 
did  not  occur  to  her  even  to  waste  a  word  of  excuse  or 
explanation  over  the  matter.  She  simply  had  no  eyes 
for  these  things,  but  began  at  once  to  discuss  with  me 
the  development  of  our  party  in  Germany.  As  a  striking 
example  of  her  indifference  to  dress,  Macdonald  tells 
of  her  that  once,  when  she  had  to  play  a  leading  part 
in  an  important  deputation,  her  friends  had  the  greatest 
trouble  to  induce  her  to  get  a  new  blouse  for  the  purpose, 
but  when  on  the  appointed  day  Margaret  Macdonald 
rose  to  address  the  Minister  whom  they  were  interviewing, 
they  saw,  to  their  horror,  that  she  had  put  the  new 
garment  on  inside  out  !  She  was  very  wide  awake,  how¬ 
ever,  to  all  that  affected  the  community.  The  articles 
which  she  contributed  to  the  column  headed  “  The 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  247 


Women  Workers'  Movement/'  which  she  edited  for  a 
long  time,  gratuitously,  for  the  Labour  Leader,  were  not 
infrequently  illumined  by  that  delightful  humour  which 
only  a  sympathetic  understanding  of  human  weaknesses 
can  give.  Macdonald  writes  that  the  basis  of  her  char¬ 
acter  was  maternal  feeling.  It  inspired  all  her  actions, 
so  that  her  admirers  were  certainly  in  the  right  when, 
in  order  to  perpetuate  her  memory,  they  collected  a  fund 
to  be  applied  to  the  foundation  of  a  ward  in  a  children's 
hospital,  which  was  to  be  named  after  her.  In  addition 
to  this  a  memorial  stone  in  the  leafy  square  before  the 
house  in  which  she  dwelt  to  the  last  shows  the  great 
esteem  which  her  public  labours  had  won  for  her. 

The  Macdonalds  were  fond  of  entertaining  their 
friends.  Their  “at  home  "  days  were  most  enjoyable, 
and  one  always  found  people  there  who  were  well  worth 
meeting.  They  proved  their  friendship  for  my  wife  and 
myself,  when  in  January  1901  we  interrupted  our  sojourn 
in  London  in  order  to  return  home,  for  they  arranged 
a  farewell  evening  for  us  in  their  flat.  There  was  to 
have  been  present  on  this  evening  a  woman  who,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  opinion  which  the  world  had  long  held  of  her, 
should  have  been  the  very  antithesis  of  the  gentle  Mar¬ 
garet  Macdonald,  but  in  reality  she  shared  even  Margaret's 
delicacy  of  feeling  :  I  am  speaking  of  the  heroic  Louise 
Michel,  the  revolutionist,  capable  of  the  most  vehement 
ebullition,  yet  at  the  same  time  so  unselfishly  ready  to 
give  help  where  it  was  wanted.  She  was  unable  to  come 
on  this  occasion,  but  sent  my  wife,  as  a  memento,  a  poem, 
beneath  which,  in  absence  of  mind,  she  wrote  the  name 
of  the  month  and  the  date  incorrectly — February  1801, 
instead  of  January  1901.  However,  it  might  just  as 
well  have  been  the  former  date.  The  poem  breathes  an 
atmosphere  like  that  which  inspired  the  poetry  of  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  One  is  put  in  mind  of 
the  authoress  of  “  Corinna  "  when  one  reads  ; 


248 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Farewell 


From  Louise  Michel  to  Mrs.  Bernstein. 

Au  revoir,  ayez  bon  voyage, 

Mais  en  entendant  autres  voix, 

En  songeant  sur  une  autre  plage 
Pensez  a  Londres  quelquefois. 


A  Londres  oh  vers  la  science 
Les  femmes  prennent  leur  essor, 
Ou  1  art  tente  leur  esperance 
En  chantant  sur  la  harpe  d’or. 


Au  revoir,  Londres  est  cher  aux  femmes, 

Toutes  aiment  y  revenir, 

On  dirait  qu’y  rodent  des  ames 
Cherchant  la  16gende  a  venir. 

Louise  Michel. 


Londres,  28  Fevrier  1801. 


(Farewell  :  but  when  your  journey’s  o’er 
And  other  voices  greet  your  ear, 

When  dreaming  on  another  shore, 

Think  now  and  then  of  London  here. 

London  :  for  here  are  women  bold 
To  soar  toward  knowledge,  throned  high  ; 

Here,  singing  to  her  harp  of  gold, 

Art  lures  their  hopes  toward  her  to  fly. 

Farewell.  To  women  London’s  dear  ; 

Absent,  our  hearts  are  all  forlorn, 

As  though  our  souls  were  straying  here 
To  seek  the  legend  yet  unborn.) 

I  should  have  to  make  mention  of  many  more  persons 
if  I  wished  to  include  all  the  married  couples  and  single 
men  and  women  in  the  world  of  the  Socialist  “  intel¬ 
lectuals  ”  of  England  who  have  distinguished  themselves 
by  notable  achievements.  I  have  often  spoken  of  that 
loyal  Fabian,  Edward  R.  Pease,  so  that  I  cannot  refrain 
from  devoting  a  few  words  to  his  wife,  Marjorie  Pease. 
What  her  husband  has  been  to  the  Fabian  Society,  that 
she  has  been  for  many  years  to  the  “  Free  Russia  ” 


SOCIALIST  INTELLECTUALS  IN  ENGLAND  249 


League,  whose  object  is  to  collect  funds  to  support 
the  soldiers  of  freedom  in  Russia.  There  are  those 
“  intellectuals  ”  who  have  become  stalwarts  of  the 
Independent  Labour  Party  :  James  and  Catherine  Bruce 
Glasier,  F.  W.  Jowett,  and  Philip  Snowden  ;  there  are 
the  “  intellectuals  ”  gathered  about  Robert  Blatchford 
oi  the  Clarion ,  and  many  others.  But  I  must  pull  up. 
For  however  great  the  share  of  the  “  intellectuals  ”  in 
the  awakening  and  intellectual  fertilisation  of  Socialism 
in  England,  the  most  important  element  of  the  Socialist 
movement  is  nevertheless  the  working  class,  and  I  must 
try  to  do  justice  to  it. 


p 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE,  AND  THE  PROLE¬ 
TARIAN  SOCIALIST  IN  ENGLAND 

IN  the  autumn  of  1899,  as  I  was  returning  to 
England  from  Holland,  whither  I  had  been 
making  a  brief  excursion,  I  had  a  most  amusing 
experience  on  board  the  steamer  that  brought  me  over. 
It  was  the  year  in  which  lively  discussions  had  been 
excited  among  the  Social  Democrats  of  Germany  by 
certain  essays  from  my  pen,  and  particularly  by  my 
volume  on  Die  V or  aussetzungen  des  Sozialismus  und  die 
Aufgaben  der  Sozialdemokratie ,  so  that  people  were  speak¬ 
ing  of  a  “  Bernstein  question  ”  ;  and  finally  the  Congress 
of  the  Social  Democratic  Party  convened  at  Hanover  in 
1899  devoted  several  days  to  the  discussion  of  the  ideas 
which  I  had  developed.  Since  Germany  was  still  for¬ 
bidden  territory  for  me,  I  had  journeyed  to  Oldenzaal 
on  the  German-Dutch  frontier,  in  order  to  meet  some  of 
those  members  of  the  Congress  with  whom  I  was  most 
intimately  acquainted.  I  spent  two  days  with  them  in 
Holland,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  I  returned, 
through  Blissengen,  to  England.  The  crossing  occupied 
the  greater  part  of  the  night  and  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning.  I  slept  for  several  hours,  but  waked  quite 
early,  and  went  on  deck,  where  besides  myself  there 
was  so  far  only  a  young  man  who  might  at  most  have 
been  twenty  years  of  age.  He  was  walking  up  and  down ; 
it  was  not  yet  quite  broad  daylight. 

We  got  into  conversation,  and  were  soon  talking  of 

250 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


251 


England,  which  the  young  man  informed  me  he  was  about 
to  see  for  the  first  time.  He  realised  from  my  conversa¬ 
tion  that  I  was  already  acquainted  with  it,  and  asked  me 
all  sorts  of  questions  about  the  country  and  the  people, 
which  I  answered  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  until  finally 
our  conversation  turned  upon  a  subject  with  which  I 
was  quite  peculiarly  familiar — namely,  my  humble  self. 
The  dialogue  continued  thus  : 

He  {after  a  short  pause)  :  Tell  me,  since  you  know 
England  well,  there  is  one  point  upon  which  you  will 
certainly  be  able  to  enlighten  me.  Has  the  Bernstein 
question  made  much  of  a  sensation  in  England  ? 

I :  No,  it  hasn’t  aroused  any  interest. 

He  {astonished  and  almost  disappointed) :  None  what¬ 
ever  ? 

I :  Not  the  slightest. 

He  :  Is  that  possible  ? 

I :  There  are  very  few  people  in  England  who  know 
that  there  is  such  a  person  as  Bernstein. 

He  :  And  they  know  nothing  of  his  writings  ? 

I :  Nothing  whatever. 

He  :  But  how  is  that  ? 

I  :  Because  the  questions  which  Bernstein  has  raised 
play  no  part  whatever  in  the  political  life  of  England. 

He  :  Not  even  among  the  Socialists  ? 

I :  Not  even  among  the  Socialists. 

He  {with  increasing  disappointment)  :  Well,  well ! 

I :  But  you  are  keenly  interested  in  these  questions  ? 

He  :  Of  course. 

I :  And  may  I  ask  what  your  attitude  is  ? 

He  {energetically)  :  Naturally  against  Bernstein. 

I :  That  goes  without  saying.  In  any  case,  it  is 
proper  that  you  should  take  an  interest  in  these  dis¬ 
cussions. 

He  :  Tell  me,  am  I  likely  to  get  a  sight  of  Herr 
Bernstein  in  London  ? 


252 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


I :  That  depends.  London  is  very  big,  and  individual 
persons  might  live  there  for  ten  or  twenty  years  without 
ever  catching  the  least  glimpse  of  one  another.  But, 
of  course,  if  you  attend  Socialist  meetings — for  example, 
the  meetings  of  the  Communist  Working-men’s  Society 
in  Tottenham  Street,  Tottenham  Court  Road — you 
might  count  with  some  certainty  upon  meeting  Bernstein 
there  one  day,  for  he  lectures  there  from  time  to  time. 
Otherwise  there  is  very  little  prospect  of  meeting  him  in 
London. 

He  :  Really  ? 

I :  Yes,  he  lives  very  much  to  himself,  in  a  rather 
outlying  district  in  the  south-east  of  London,  and 
hardly  ever  goes  to  town,  except  to  work  at  the  British 
Museum  or  to  call  on  a  few  personal  friends. 

Our  conversation  turned  upon  other  subjects,  and  it 
was  only  when  we  were  ashore,  and  rolling  along  towards 
London  in  the  railway  carriage,  that  I  told  the  young 
Socialist  to  whom  he  was  speaking. 

I  had  told  him  nothing  but  the  truth  concerning  my 
position  in  England.  In  the  twelve  years  during  which 
I  had  been  living  in  London,  I  had  never  appeared  in 
public  except  at  Socialist  meetings,  most  of  which  had 
their  regular  public.  Although  I  was  the  London  corre¬ 
spondent  of  Vorwarts  from  1890  onwards,  I  remained 
unknown  to  the  great  London  Press,  and  to  the  leading 
bourgeois  politicians.  The  only  leading  journalist  in  a 
prominent  position  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  was 
the  present  editor  of  the  Nation ,  H.  W,  Massingham,  who 
at  that  time,  having  previously  been  editor-in-chief  of 
the  Radical  evening  paper,  the  Star ,  was  on  the  staff  of 
the  Liberal  morning  paper,  the  Daily  Chronicle ,  of  which 
he  soon  became  the  editor.  However,  even  this  ac. 
quaintance,  as  long  as  I  lived  in  England,  was  quite 
superficial.  It  was  only  after  Massingham,  who  resigned 
his  position  on  the  Chronicle  as  an  opponent  of  the  Boer 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


253 


War,  had  invited  me  to  contribute  regularly  to  the 
Nation ,  of  which  he  had  in  the  meantime  become  the 
editor,  that  I  became  at  all  known  in  non-Socialist  circles 
through  my  political  letters  to  this  periodical  ;  for  the 
Nation  is  read  in  all  the  political  clubs  in  England.1 

It  is  remarkable  that  in  Germany,  where  education 
is  almost  the  first  word  one  hears,  no  political  weekly  of 
a  serious  nature  has  ever  been  able  to  maintain  itself, 
as  in  England  the  Liberal  Spectator ,  the  democratic 
Nation,  the  Conservative  Saturday  Review,  and  the 
Socialist  New  Statesman  have  succeeded  in  doing. 
Years  ago  Theodore  Barth,  Dr.  Paul  Nathan,  Theodor 
Mommsen,  and  others  of  their  way  of  thinking  attempted 
to  run  a  Free  Trade  Liberal  weekly,  which  was  also 
called  the  Nation,  but  it  entailed  a  considerable  yearly 
loss,  until  in  1907  Barth  lost  patience  and  the  journal 
ceased  to  appear.  It  was  an  ornament  to  German 
journalism,  but  compared  with  its  English  namesake 
its  contents  were  poor.  Among  other  things  it  lacked 
those  contributions  from  its  circle  of  readers  which 
are  customary  in  England,  and  which  constitute  an 
effective  remedy  against  a  decline  into  a  didactic  ex 
cathedra  manner,  giving  the  periodical  something  of 
the  character  of  a  debating  club. 

Of  the  highly  developed  club-life  of  the  English  I 
can  add  little  to  what  is  already  known.  The  only 
middle-class  club  which  I  have  occasionally  visited  is 
the  National  Liberal  Club,  whose  magnificent  building  on 

1 1  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of  the  present  Prime  Minister, 
Lloyd-George,  about  the  year  1907,  when  I  was  back  in  Berlin.  Lloyd- 
George  was  then  Home  Secretary  in  the  Campbell-Bannerman  Ministry, 
and  visited  Germany  in  order  to  inform  himself  upon  the  spot  as  to 
the  nature  and  operation  of  the  German  Labour  Insurance  legislation. 
A  letter  from  my  friend  and  political  comrade,  J.  Ramsay  Macdonald, 
led  to  a  meeting  between  Mr.  Lloyd-George  and  myself  at  the  Bristol 
Hotel.  The  conversation  which  I  had  with  him  was  interesting 
enough,  but  it  turned  only  upon  questions  of  domestic  politics  and  the 
rapprochement  of  the  German  and  English  nations. 


254 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Westminster  Embankment  is  now  taken  over  by  the 
War  Office.  As  its  name  denotes,  the  National  Liberal 
Club,  or  National  Club  of  the  Liberals,  to  put  it  in 
other  words,  is  the  central  club  of  the  Liberal  Party, 
but  among  its  6000  to  7000  members  there  are  men  of 
many  ways  of  thinking,  among  them  Socialists  of  every 
shade,  who  belong  to  it  merely  in  order  to  enjoy  its  accom¬ 
modation.  Its  palatial  building  contains  a  splendid 
library,  all  sorts  of  dining-rooms,  smoking-rooms,  and 
rooms  for  political  meetings,  as  well  as  a  terrace  over¬ 
looking  the  Thames,  which  affords  a  very  fine  view. 
Situated  in  the  centre  of  London,  it  is  a  convenient 
meeting-place  for  people  who  have  something  to  discuss 
together.  In  the  great  hall  there  are  sometimes  meet¬ 
ings  or  conferences  of  members  of  the  Liberal  Party, 
or  Liberal  Members  of  Parliament,  when  their  leaders 
deliver  addresses,  but  as  a  rule  the  leaders  are  not  to  be 
seen  in  the  National  Liberal  Club.  It  appears  to  them 
rather  too  mixed  :  many  of  them  prefer  the  Reform 
Club,  which  is  of  much  earlier  date — in  its  rooms,  at 
the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  Charles  James  Fox 
would  surrender  himself  to  his  passion  for  gambling, 
and  lose  enormous  sums  ;  but  tc^-day  it  is  somewhat 
less  lively  there — or  they  belong  to  the  Devonshire  Club, 
the  ancient  home  of  the  Whigs.  The  English  Socialists 
of  my  days  had  no  club  building  of  their  own  ;  the 
clubs  founded  by  them  in  order  that  those  of  their 
persuasion  might  have  a  regular  meeting-place  were 
obliged  to  make  use  of  hired  rooms,  and  none  of  them 
outlived  its  second  year.  The  enormous  distances  of 
the  great  city,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  social  differ¬ 
ences  between  the  different  partisans  of  the  young  move¬ 
ment  on  the  other,  were  fatal  to  all  such  institutions. 

Only  one  Socialist  Society,  which  indeed  bore  the 
name  of  club,  though  it  made  no  pretensions  to  rooms 
of  its  own,  nor  did  it  collect  subscriptions,  enjoyed  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


255 


longer  life.  This  was  the  Socialist  Supper  Club,  which 
consisted  of  Socialists  who  met  every  fortnight  in  a 
private  room  in  some  previously  appointed  locality,  in 
order  to  take  supper  together  and  enjoy  unfettered 
conversation.  As  a  rule  the  chosen  meeting-place  was 
in  Soho,  where  more  German,  French,  and  Italian  is 
spoken  than  English,  and  where  the  price  of  the  supper 
was  always  such  that  even  a  moderately  well-paid 
working  man  could  afford  it.  However,  the  working- 
class  element  was  always  very  sparsely  represented  in 
this  Socialist  “  Club.”  Most  of  the  habituds  were 
middle-class  “  intellectuals.”  Men  like  William  Morris, 
H.  M.  Hyndman,  Belfort  Bax,  and  other  well-known 
personalities  constituted  the  intellectual  nucleus  of  these 
gatherings,  which  I  attended  regularly  for  a  long  time. 
It  was  a  very  easygoing  affair ;  a  friendly  tone  pre¬ 
vailed,  and  one  made  very  sympathetic  acquaintances. 
But  the  short-lived  clubs  put  me  more  in  mind  of 
Germany ;  these  were  founded  rather  to  include 
Socialists  of  all  shades,  without  distinctions  of  class. 
In  them  that  Socialist  element  preponderated  which 
to-day  constitutes  the  nucleus  of  the  Independent 
Labour  Party,  while  at  the  Socialist  Supper  Club  the 
Social  Democratic  Federation  was  preponderant,  and  its 
intellectual  chief,  H.  M.  Hyndman,  set  the  tone.  Hynd¬ 
man  had  a  way  of  his  own  of  getting  the  better  of  those 
who  differed  from  him  which  I  was  never  able  to  stomach. 
One  had  to  be  willing  to  forgive  him  many  things  for 
the  sake  of  his  undoubted  honesty  and  devotion  to  the 
cause  before  one  could  put  up  with  his  company  for  long. 

A  member  of  a  well-to-do  middle-class  family,  well 
read,  a  gifted  writer,  and  a  very  effective  speaker, 
Hyndman  had  been  of  the  greatest  service  in  con-  * 
nection  with  the  resurrection  of  Socialism  in  England.] 
But  while  he  knew  how  to  enlist  recruits,  he  was  less 
successful  in  holding  them  together.  A  small  body 


256 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


of  devoted  admirers  remained  loyal  to  him  ;  but  even 
before  it  split  in  two  as  a  result  of  the  war  he  had  not 
raised  the  membership  of  the  organisation  of  which  he 
was  the  head  to  any  considerable  figure,  despite  the  in¬ 
estimable  propagandist  zeal  of  its  members.  I  once 
heard  Hyndman  allude  with  pride  to  the  number  of 
people  who  had  passed  through  the  books  of  the  Social 
Democratic  Federation.  He  mentioned  an  enormous 
figure,  and  although  in  this  matter  his  fertile  imagination 
may  have  outstripped  the  reality,  yet  one  might  with¬ 
out  exaggeration  speak  of  well  over  a  hundred  thousand 
temporary  recruits.  Nevertheless,  Hyndman  seemed 
quite  incapable  of  realising  the  criticism  of  his  methods 
that  resided  in  the  fact  that  of  the  hundred  thousand 
who  had  entered  the  organisation  over  which  he  pre¬ 
sided,  only  a  few  thousands  had  remained  in  it.  The 
sense  of  moderation  in  particular  is  ill-developed  in 
Hyndman,  and  his  tendency  to  exaggerate  is  re¬ 
sponsible  for  the  fact  that  he  has  so  often  fallen  into  ill- 
repute  as  a  politician.  For  a  long  time  he  was  dis¬ 
trusted  by  his  enemies  as  a  secret  Tory,  which  he  never 
was  ;  and  those  were  equally  in  error  who  described 
him  as  a  Socialist  Jingo.  On  the  contrary,  he  has 
repeatedly  opposed  England’s  foreign  wars,  and  has 
broken  many  a  lance  for  the  rights  of  the  enemy.  If 
he  has  behaved  otherwise  during  the  present  war,  and 
has  spoken  in  favour  of  continuing  hostilities  against 
Germany,  he  has  been  influenced  by  his  enmity  to 
institutions  and  tendencies  which  in  his  opinion  were 
more  fully  represented  by  Imperial  Germany  than 
by  any  other  country,  but  by  no  means  by  national 
vanity.  Like  many  democratic  Englishmen,  he  has  a 
great  affection  for  France  and  French  culture,  which 
still  remained  unshaken  when,  at  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  there  was  friction  between  France  and  England 
over  various  Colonial  questions,  and  the  two  Western 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


257 


nations  appeared  to  be  on  the  point  of  collision.  That 
hostility  to  England  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  increasing 
naval  armaments  of  Germany  during  more  or  less  the 
same  period,  was  to  him,  on  the  contrary,  an  axiom 
which  he,  a  Social  Democrat,  used  to  preach  even  in 
contributions  to  papers  like  the  Times  and  the  Morning 
Post,  just  as  he  was  never  weary,  at  international 
Congresses,  before  a  public  that  understood  nothing  of 
such  matters,  of  making  immoderate  attacks  upon  his 
own  country  in  respect  of  its  administration  of  India. 
In  both  cases  the  effect  of  his  representations  was 
very  different  from  that  which  he  aimed  at.  But  his 
intentions  would  have  survived  the  strictest  Socialistic 
criticism. 

Hyndman's  counterpart  in  the  world  of  proletarian 
Socialists  is  John  Burns,  originally,  to  a  certain  extent, 
his  pupil,  but  then,  for  years,  his  embittered  opponent, 
represented  by  him  as  a  traitor.  Burns  also  has  the 
gift  of  making  an  unnecessary  number  of  personal 
enemies,  but  he  compels  those  whom  he  has  offended 
by  his  rudeness  to  respect  and  even  admire  him  for  his 
capacity  and  reliability.  As  a  speaker,  no  less  than  as 
a  worker  in  the  most  varied  spheres  of  activity,  his 
natural  gifts  are  far  above  the  average,  and  he  has  the 
iron  perseverance  of  genius.  Even  when  he  was  still 
working  as  a  mechanic,  and  was  able  to  devote  his 
leisure  only  to  Socialistic  agitation,  he  surprised  the 
employers  with  whom  he  had  to  negotiate  when  a  strike 
was  afoot  by  his  mastery  of  all  the  individual  problems 
of  their  business  as  these  affected  the  strikers.  And 
in  the  same  way,  as  President  of  the  Local  Govern¬ 
ment  Board,  at  Congresses  of  sanitary  engineers,  archi¬ 
tects,  and  other  trades  and  professions,  he  displayed  a 
knowledge  and  experience  of  their  specialities  which 
caused  universal  astonishment,  and  finally  won  him 
an  honorary  degree.  The  late  Sir  Henry  Campbell - 
17 


258 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


Bannerman  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  at  the  end 
of  the  year  1905,  in  forming  his  Liberal  Cabinet,  he  made 
a  Cabinet  Minister  of  “  the  man  with  the  red  flag,”  as 
Burns  was  called  in  the  days  of  the  Trafalgar  Square 
riot  described  in  a  previous  chapter.  He  showed  no 
lack  of  ability  in  the  post  confided  to  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  disappointed  his  admirers  in 
some  respects.  Above  all,  he  was  not  the  man  to  play 
the  part  which  it  was  particularly  hoped  that  he  would 
play,  namely,  that  of  mediator  between  democratic 
Liberalism  and  the  Socialist  Labour  movement.  If  he 
had  previously  had  many  opponents  and  even  enemies 
among  the  ranks  of  the  Socialists,  their  number  was 
considerably  increased  during  the  first  year  of  his 
ministry.  In  the  introduction  of  reforms  in  the  sphere 
of  municipal  politics  he  made  much  slower  progress 
than  some  of  his  Liberal  colleagues  in  the  Ministry.  In 
replying  to  the  inevitable  criticism  of  Socialist  members 
he  was  lacking  in  that  urbanity  which  Campbell-Banner¬ 
man,  Asquith,  and  others  observed  toward  them,  being 
only  too  apt  to  assume  the  tone  of  a  superior,  which 
most  people  find  extremely  galling.  When  I  once 
remarked  to  Engels,  a  propos  of  Ferdinand  Lassalle, 
that  his  vanity  seemed  to  me  to  have  been  so  great  that 
it  soon  ceased  to  provoke  one,  he  suddenly  exclaimed  : 
“  That’s  precisely  what  the  Lupus  said  of  Lassalle.” 
(That  is,  Lassalle’s  fellow-countryman,  Wilhelm  Wolff, 
known  as  “  Casemate  ”  Wolff.)  There  is,  in  fact,  a 
vanity  which  so  often  co-exists  with  a  certain  childlike 
quality  that  the  unprejudiced  observer  is  no  longer 
irritated  by  it.  This  is  the  case  with  John  Burns.  He 
has  not  the  faculty  of  cloaking  his  defects.  He  was  very 
neatly  characterised  soon  after  he  entered  Parliament, 
by  the  witty  author — if  I  mistake  not,  the  present 
Lord  Haldane — of  an  anonymous  essay  on  “  Statesmen 
Past  and  Future,”  in  the  following  words  : 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


259 


“  Mr.  Chamberlain  used  to  tell  a  good  story  of  an  old 
Parliamentary  hand — not  Mr.  Gladstone — who  advised 
him  that  if  he  broke  down  in  his  maiden  speech  the 
House  would  regard  it  as  a  compliment.  Mr.  Chamber- 
lain  never  broke  down  ;  apparently  could  not,  even  if 
he  wanted  to.  A  lack  of  self-confidence  was  not  one 
of  Mr.  Burns's  interesting  attributes.  The  House  of 
Commons  had  no  terrors  for  him,  and  he  would  not 
affect  an  awe  which  he  did  not  feel.  His  maiden  speech 
was  delivered  with  as  much  cool  self-assurance  as  though 
he  had  been  standing  on  the  platform  at  a  popular 
assembly  in  Battersea.  Few  people  are  listened  to  with 
greater  respect  and  attention.  Mr.  Burns  never  speaks 
for  the  sake  of  speaking.  When  he  addresses  the  House 
he  has  always  something  to  say,  and  he  knows  how  it 
ought  to  be  said.” 

Three  years  before  Burns  was  elected  to  Parliament 
he  became  a  member  of  the  London  County  Council, 
where  he  soon  began  to  play  a  leading  part,  as  one  of  the 
chief  representatives  of  the  Progressive  majority,  and 
treated  the  Conservatives,  who  were  represented  on  the 
Council  only  by  mediocrities,  in  a  very  disdainful  manner. 
But  in  the  House  of  Commons,  our  essayist  continues,  he 
soon  noted,  as  a  shrewd  observer,  that  such  a  course 
would  not  be  practicable  there,  for  the  opposition  was 
ably  and  skilfully  led. 

“  Mr.  Balfour  and  Mr.  Chamberlain,  in  spite  ot  Mr. 
Chamberlain’s  impetuosity  and  Mr.  Balfour’s  indolence, 
stand  very  high  as  Party  leaders  when  they  show  them¬ 
selves  at  their  best.  Mr.  Burns  is  full  of  courage  and 
fears  no  one.  But  he  respects  a  strong  adversary,  and 
recognises  a  convincing  argument.  No  public  speaker 
excels  him  in  hardiness,  and  is  less  addicted  to  flattering 
the  masses.  In  the  debate  on  the  Featherstone  Riot  he 


260 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


took  a  hazardous  course  indeed  when  he  conceded  that 
dangerous  rioters  must  be  fired  upon,  and  even  repudi¬ 
ated  the  employment  of  less  deadly  weapons  than  the 
Lee-Metford  rifle . ' ,  1 

That  Burns  had  no  fear  of  telling  the  workers  the 
unvarnished  truth,  I  have  had  many  opportunities  of 
observing.  On  one  occasion  he  helped,  by  his  powerful 
influence,  to  ensure  the  triumph  of  a  strike  of  London 
cab-drivers.  A  meeting  in  Hyde  Park,  with  an  address 
by  John  Burns,  marked  the  conclusion  of  the  strike. 
With  the  Austrian  Socialist,  Wittelshofer,  who  was  in 
London  just  then,  and  had  asked  me  to  accompany  him, 
I  went  to  the  Park  to  hear  Burns  speak.  It  was  on  a 
week-day  ;  only  strikers  surrounded  the  platform  from 
which  Burns  was  to  speak.  We,  as  observers,  kept  in 
the  background.  Wittelshofer  was  almost  in  an  ecstasy 
over  the  assured  manner  in  which  Burns  addressed  the 
cab-drivers.  “Now  do  make  a  reasonable  use  of  the 
higher  wages  which  you  have  fought  for,”  he  shouted. 
“  Don’t  drink  it,  but  give  the  money  to  the  missus.” 
And  as  this  evoked  various  interruptions,  he  continued : 
“  Oh,  I  know  you ;  you  can’t  take  me  in.  Your  wives  are 
worth  more  than  you  are.  And  this  is  certain,  if  I  find 
out  that  the  extra  pay  is  being  drunk,  the  next  time  you 
will  have  me  against  you,  not  for  you.” 

Burns,  as  I  mentioned  in  a  previous  chapter,  is  a 

1  In  Featherstone,  near  Wakefield  in  Yorkshire,  there  was  a  strike 
of  miners  in  1893,  and  the  strikers  were  attempting  to  demolish  a 
coal-pit.  They  were  fired  upon  after  they  had  met  the  repeated 
warning  to  disperse  by  resistance,  and  had  already  begun  to  set  fire 
to  the  buildings  about  the  pit.  The  matter  was  taken  up  in  Parlia¬ 
ment,  and  an  attack  was  made  upon  Mr.  Asquith,  who  was  then  Home 
Secretary.  At  this  Burns  sprang  to  his  feet  and  declared  that  the 
complaint  was  unreasonable.  If  working  men  give  themselves  up  to 
rioting  they  must  be  well  aware  that  they  will  be  fired  upon,  and  it  is 
childish  to  expect  that  in  such  a  case  old-fashioned  weapons  should 
be  employed. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


261 


strict  abstainer.  He  sees  in  drink  one  of  the  chief 
hindrances  to  the  cultural  improvement  of  the  English 
people.  On  all  occasions  he  refers  to  the  tremendous 
part  which  the  expenditure  on  drink  plays  in  the  budget 
of  the  English  people.  “  A  nation  which  spends  180 
millions  yearly  on  alcoholic  drinks,  70  millions  on  its 
armaments,  and  50  millions  on  horse-racing  and  betting,” 
he  says  in  a  pamphlet  on  the  political  dangers  of  Pro¬ 
tection,  which  he  wrote  in  1903  as  a  criticism  of  Chamber¬ 
lain’s  scheme  of  Imperial  Preference,  “  does  not  need  to 
tax  the  food  of  the  poor,  and  exclude  cheap  foreign 
sugar  from  its  markets,  in  order  to  obtain  a  few  millions, 
or  to  assist  its  Colonies.”  Before  this  he  had  written  : 

"  Moreover,  the  world  exists  for  another  purpose 
than  the  exploitation  of  foreign  countries  by  British 
factory-owners  and  landlords  who  keep  armies  of  workers 
at  monotonous  labour.  England  has  more  than  her 
rightful  share  in  the  world’s  production,  and  the  pity 
of  it  is  that  so  much  of  the  revenue  from  her  industries 
is  wasted  upon  purposes  of  armament  when  it  is  not 
squandered  on  drink  and  gambling,  betting,  and 
luxuries.” 

The  man  who  wrote  this,  and  makes  similar  asser¬ 
tions  in  his  speeches,  is  assuredly  no  flatterer  of  the 
masses.  He  has  often  been  accused  by  Socialist  op¬ 
ponents  of  calumniating  British  Labour,  and  of  pre¬ 
judicing  their  fight  for  their  own  interests  by  laying 
an  unfair  stress  upon  their  defects.  Certainly  he  cannot 
be  acquitted  of  a  tendency  to  exaggerate.  At  the  time 
of  the  Boer  War,  I  had  once  some  conversation  with  him 
on  the  subject  of  the  war.  It  was  in  1900,  when  the 
flood- tide  of  national  excitement  was  at  its  highest  point. 
No  one  could  at  that  time  come  forward  at  a  public 
meeting  as  an  advocate  of  the  Boers  without  risking  his 


262 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


limbs  ;  but  Burns,  regardless  of  consequences,  defended 
their  cause,  and  stigmatised  the  proceedings  of  the 
British  Government  with  the  utmost  vehemence,  holding 
it  entirely  responsible  for  the  war,  while  I,  as  corre¬ 
spondent  of  Vorwarts,  regarded  it  as  my  duty,  in  view  of 
the  hostility  which  was  springing  up  in  Germany,  to  treat 
the  question  in  a  more  dispassionate  manner,  and  to 
point  out  the  defects  of  Kruger’s  policy.  Meeting  Burns 
one  day,  towards  the  end  of  the  year,  in  the  neighbour¬ 
hood  of  Trafalgar  Square,  I  proceeded,  after  our  first 
words  of  greeting,  to  discuss  these  questions.  I  con¬ 
gratulated  him  on  his  courageous  behaviour,  but  added 
that  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  stigmatising  the  Home 
Government  he  was  not  paying  as  much  attention  to  the 
international  aspect  of  the  question  as  it  deserved,  with 
the  general  situation  what  it  was.  He  listened  to  me 
quietly,  interposing  a  query  here  and  there,  and  said, 
when  I  had  concluded  : 

“  I  see  perfectly  well  that  you  must  do  as  you  are 
doing,  and  if  I  were  in  your  place  I  should  probably  do 
the  same.  But  I  have  another  duty.  In  this  country 
I  must  fight  with  my  whole  undivided  strength  to  prevent 
England  from  shedding  blood  for  a  gang  of  financiers, 
instead  of  offering  the  Boers  an  honourable  peace.” 

This  reply  revealed  the  secret  of  the  great  and  imme¬ 
diate  efficacy  of  Burns  as  an  agitator,  but  at  the  same 
time  it  laid  bare  the  Achilles’  heel  of  his  policy  as  he  had 
hitherto  followed  it.  Since  then  his  concepts  appear  to 
have  gained  breadth  in  an  international  sense.  At  that 
time  he  dealt  with  the  problems  of  foreign,  as  of  domestic 
politics,  from  the  standpoint  of  the  English  anti-capi¬ 
talist,  democratic  member  of  the  Opposition.  For  this 
reason  many  of  his  speeches,  in  so  far  as  they  touched 
upon  international  polity,  would  hardly  have  stood  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


263 


test  of  objective  truth,  while  their  effect  upon  the  hearer 
only  gained  by  this  quality  of  onesidedness. 

After  Burns  had  sent  in  his  resignation,  which  was 
accepted,  in  August  1914,  when  the  English  Cabinet 
resolved  by  a  majority  to  present  an  ultimatum  to 
Germany,  he  would  have  been  free,  as  in  1900,  to  loose 
his  shafts  upon  the  Government  which  had  entered 
the  war.  However,  he  has  refrained  from  doing  so,  and 
has  been  quite  remarkably  quiet  for  a  long  time.  It 
appears,  moreover,  from  occasional  utterances  which 
he  has  made  since  then,  that  the  same  reason  which 
caused  Graham  Wallas  and  so  many  others,  who  at  first 
advocated  the  neutrality  of  England,  to  alter  their 
attitude  to  Germany,  has  brought  him  over  to  the  side 
of  his  opponents.  However,  as  may  be  seen  from  a 
mention  of  him  in  the  Daily  Chronicle  of  the  1st  of  June 
1917,  he  is  still  far  from  repudiating  the  title  of  “  the 
man  who  kept  out  of  the  war/’  The  Chronicle  describes 
him  as  bibliophile,  and  he  has  long  been  celebrated  as  such. 
He  zealously  searches  the  secondhand  booksellers’ 
shops,  and  the  barrows  on  which  old  books  are  exposed 
for  sale,  for  buried  treasures.  His  collection  of  books, 
which,  as  has  already  been  mentioned,  was  by  no  means 
inconsiderable,  when  he  still  had  only  the  means  of 
a  proletarian  worker,  has  grown  enormously  since  he 
has  become  a  Minister,  and  contains  not  a  few  unique 
examples. 

The  writer  of  the  article  in  the  Chronicle  met  him  in 
Fleet  Street,  that  centre  of  the  newspaper  world,  with  a 
parcel  of  books  under  his  arm.  Asked  what  its  contents 
were.  Burns  replied  :  “  Four  editions  of  Sir  Thomas 

More.  I  have  over  a  hundred.  I  got  this  for  tenpence  ; 
this  cost  me  four  guineas.”  “  The  great  Sir  Thomas,” 
adds  the  writer,  “  is  one  of  Mr.  Burns’  idols.  John 
Stuart  Mill,  Carlyle,  and  Ruskin  are  a  few  others.” 

It  may  be  by  chance  that  he  does  not  name  Marx 


264 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


and  Engels.  Perhaps  the  war  had  something  to  say  to 
this,  although  England  has  not  as  yet  gone  to  the  length 
of  extending  the  war  to  science  and  literature.  In  any 
case,  Burns  has  the  works  of  the  authors  of  the  Com¬ 
munist  Manifesto  in  the  English  translation,  and  also 
those  of  Lassalle,  and  holds  them  in  great  esteem.  But  I 
doubt  if  they  have  made  the  same  impression  on  him  as 
the  writings  of  Carlyle,  Mill,  Ruskin,  and  other  British 
thinkers.  Not  that  I  should  attribute  any  national 
prejudice  to  Burns  ;  he  assuredly  has  no  such  prejudice 
in  these  matters.  We  have  rather  to  deal  with  the 
phenomenon  which  we  may  observe  everywhere.  Let 
us  take  a  very  narrow  circle  of  scholars  and  lovers  of 
literature,  and  a  very  limited  number  of  books  of  a 
universal  character  :  even  the  best  writers  upon  social 
and  political  questions  produce  an  immediate  intellectual 
effect  only  in  their  own  country.  The  different  in¬ 
stitutions  and  different  rates  of  progress  to  be  found  in 
individual  nations  result  in  a  different  manner  of  looking 
at  things  and  of  conceiving  ideas,  so  that  men’s  minds 
are  fully  susceptible  only  to  such  literary  creations  as  are 
born  of  the  national  genius.  Indeed,  the  longer  the 
individual  nation  has  played  an  independent  part  in  the 
progress  of  modern  evolution,  and  the  richer  its  own 
literature,  the  more  fully  does  this  statement  apply. 
After  all,  it  is  only  abstract  theories  that  are  in  the  full 
sense  of  the  word  international ;  any  application  of  them 
to  real  life  is  more  or  less  coloured,  in  this  country  or  in 
that,  by  the  national  spirit.  But  where  the  people  is 
concerned  it  is  application  that  first  gives  life  to 
theory. 

Not  only  Burns,  but  almost  all  modern  English 
Socialists  have  received  their  first  decisive  impetus 
towards  Socialism  from  the  writings  of  Carlyle,  Mill, 
Ruskin,  the  Anglo-American  land  reformer  Henry  George, 
and  the  English  Radical  Neo  -  Malthusian,  Drysdale, 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


265 


afterwards  adapting  what  they  learned  of  Marx’s  doc¬ 
trines  to  those  of  the  first-named. 

Among  others  who  were  converted  to  Socialism  as 
pupils  of  Carlyle  and  Henry  George  was  James  Keir 
Hardie,  who  died  a  year  ago.  For  many  years  the 
chairman  of  the  Independent  Labour  Party,  he  was  to  the 
last  regarded  by  the  rank  and  file  of  the  party  with  an 
affection  which  hardly  any  other  member  of  the  party 
enjoyed.  And  this  affection  was  not  undeserved.  Keir 
Hardie  was  body  and  soul  a  party  man  ;  he  spent  him¬ 
self  in  the  service  of  the  party  and  worked  for  it 
indefatigably.  The  restless  desire  for  personal  success 
which  John  Burns  was  able  to  gratify,  and  which  brought 
him  into  antagonism  with  many  of  his  comrades  in  arms, 
was  unknown  to  Hardie.  A  Scot  by  birth  and  education, 
he  had  in  him  much  of  the  character  of  the  old  Puritan 
Covenanters  —  not,  indeed,  the  austerity  in  personal 
intercourse,  but  rather  the  identity  of  political  thought 
and  behaviour,  and  the  strong  sense  of  impersonal  dogma. 
In  the  last  connection  there  could  hardly  be  a  stronger 
contrast  than  that  between  Burns  and  Hardie.  Burns, 
too,  is  of  Scottish  blood.  He  somehow  traces  his 
descent  from  the  family  of  the  famous  Scottish  poet, 
but  he  was  born  and  grew  up  in  London,  and  if  he  had 
certain  natural  talents  and  a  certain  inner  restlessness 
in  common  with  the  author  of  "  A  man’s  a  man  for  a’ 
that,”  yet  many  things  in  him  betrayed  the  Cockney 
who  has  grown  to  manhood  within  hearing  of  “  Big 
Ben.”  When  I  made  his  acquaintance  he  even  spoke 
English  now  and  then  with  a  trace  of  the  Cockney  accent ; 
indeed,  he  still  on  occasion  betrayed  that  uncertainty 
in  the  use  of  the  aspirate  which  distinguishes  the  true 
Cockney,  for  whom  houses  are  ’ouses,  and  eggs  heggs. 

This  sort  of  transgression  against  the  usages  of  speech, 
is,  for  that  matter,  a  thing  apart.  We  are  very  ready  to 
regard  it  as  the  result  of  ignorance  of  the  rules  of  ortho- 


266 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


graphy  or  grammar.  But  it  is  by  no  means  so  in  all 
cases.  By  no  means  every  Berliner  who  says  mir  instead 
of  mich  is  shaky  as  regards  the  precepts  of  the  gram¬ 
marian,  or  the  uses  of  the  dative  and  accusative  cases. 
He  chooses,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  to  say  mir  in 
certain  places  because  usage  makes  it  sound  more  correct 
in  that  connection — indeed,  many  who  do  so  would  say 
that  to  them  it  sounds  more  agreeable  and  more  expres¬ 
sive.  I  have  noticed  that  parents  who  are  of  the  people 
are  almost  offended  if  their  children  speak  grammatic¬ 
ally,  and  even  seem  inclined  to  forbid  such  an  affectation  ; 
and  in  my  own  boyhood  I  remember  that  our  family 
doctor,  who  was  a  medical  officer  in  Berlin,  shouted 
roughly  to  my  brother,  when  he  had  to  open  an  abscess 
for  him  :  “  Na,  bespritz  dir  man  nich  !  ” 

To  what  a  degree  certain  ways  of  speech  may  be 
organically  implanted,  I  was  able  to  observe  in  the  case 
of  certain  English  boys  of  the  lower  classes  with  whom 
I  was  to  some  extent  acquainted  in  the  days  of  my  youth. 
They  belonged  to  an  acrobatic  troupe  which  displayed 
its  skill  in  a  large  place  of  amusement  in  Berlin.  Behind 
the  wings  and  on  the  streets  they  soon  picked  up  the 
German  language.  But  although  as  regards  the  use  of 
the  aspirate  they  heard  only  the  correct  German  pro¬ 
nunciation,  two  of  them  treated  the  aspirate  in  German 
as  the  Cockney  treats  it  in  his  mother-tongue,  so  that 
they  used  to  say  ’Alle  for  Halle,  ge’abt  for  gehabt,  Heier 
for  Eier,  Hofen  for  Ofen,  and  so  forth  ;  a  fact  of  which 
we  then  had  no  explanation.  They  had  evidently  been 
reared  in  or  near  London,  so  that  the  difficulty  with  the 
aspirate  was  natural  to  them.  It  was  therefore  not 
wonderful  that  when  I  first  met  Burns  in  the  autumn  of 
1888,  at  which  time  he  was  still  living  in  wholly  pro¬ 
letarian  surroundings,  he  should  tell  me  of  his  exaspera¬ 
tion  over  Mr.  ’Yndman’s  attitude  towards  him,  whereas 
he  would  certainly  not  have  wTritten  the  name  of  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


267 


leader  of  the  Social  Democratic  Federation  without 
an  h. 

Keir  Hardie  spoke  with  a  Scottish  accent,  which  one 
soon  learns  to  distinguish  from  the  English  on  settling 
down  in  England  and  coming  into  contact  with  the 
inhabitants  of  the  various  parts  of  the  United  Kingdom. 
In  general,  the  speech  of  the  Scot  is  more  musical  than 
that  of  the  Englishman,  and  his  again  is  more  musical 
than  that  of  the  German  as  spoken  over  the  greater 
part  of  North  Germany.  But  to  my  mind  the  distinctly 
sounded  r  and  the  clipped  vowels  give  the  Scottish 
accent  a  colouring  that  readily  enables  the  listener  to 
realise  that  he  is  dealing  with  the  descendants  of  Pro¬ 
testant  fanatics.  I  have  had  none  but  friendly  relations 
with  Keir  Hardie,  and  have  never  seen  anything  in  him 
that  could  prejudice  me  against  his  personality.  Yet 
I  have  seldom  been  in  his  company  without  experiencing 
something  of  the  feeling  which  comes  over  a  cosmo¬ 
politan  when  he  finds  himself  confronted  by  a  religious 
penitent.  One  thinks  of  Heine’s  comparison  of  Nazarene 
and  Hellene.  Keir  Hardie  would  undoubtedly  have  been 
described  by  Heine  as  a  Nazarene.  Without  being 
sanctimonious,  he  had  nevertheless  a  great  deal  of  the 
ecclesiastic  in  his  character. 

This  is  a  trait  which  one  discovers  in  a  great  many 
British  Socialists,  particularly  in  those  who  come  from 
the  North  of  England,  or  from  Scotland  or  Wales.  The 
North  and  the  West  of  the  United  Kingdom  are  Con¬ 
servative  in  matters  of  religion,  but  as  regards  politics 
they  are  more  Radical  than  the  South  ;  a  phenomenon 
which  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  North  and  West 
are  the  strongholds  of  Protestant  Dissent,  of  Noncon¬ 
formity  ;  that  is,  of  the  Churches  which  are  unable  to 
assent  to  the  articles  of  faith  of  the  Established  Church 
of  England.  The  adherents  of  the  Church  of  England 
are  largely  opportunists  in  spiritual  matters.  They 


268 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


swim  with  the  current ;  they  are  place-hunters,  and  like 
to  live  as  comfortably  as  possible.  In  politics,  therefore* 
they  are  Conservatives  in  fact  if  not  by  name.  Not  so 
the  Dissenters.  Historically  speaking,  the  Free  Churches 
of  Great  Britain,  as  the  Dissenting  congregations  are 
called,  have  from  the  time  of  their  formation  been  in 
opposition  to  the  State,  and  in  several  of  them  this 
spirit  of  opposition  to  the  ruling  powers  has  been  pro¬ 
pagated  by  inheritance.  For  generations  Noncon¬ 
formity  has  been  the  backbone  of  the  political  Liberalism 
of  England,  for  which  reason  Liberalism  has  a  deeper 
religious  tincture  in  England  than  is  elsewhere  the  case. 
For  the  Nonconformists  adhere  to  their  churches  with 
the  tenacity  of  one  who  cherishes  a  possession  which  he 
has  won  by  strenuous  fighting. 

In  his  English  Sketches  Heine  says  that  even  the 
stupidest  Englishman  can  find  something  sensible  if  one 
discusses  politics  with  him,  but  if  the  conversation  turns 
upon  religion,  even  the  cleverest  Englishman  can  utter 
nothing  but  stupidities.  As  regards  the  bone  of  con¬ 
tention  which  Heine  had  in  mind — namely,  the  question 
of  Catholic  Emancipation — Heine  himself  cited  two 
speeches  made  in  the  English  Parliament  in  which  the 
fear  of  the  Catholics  was  wittily  derided,  and  a  year 
after  this  passage  was  written  the  Catholic  Emancipation 
Bill  became  law.  Moreover,  Heine,  who  was  steeped 
in  the  spirit  of  the  more  progressive  German  philosophy, 
overlooked  the  fact  that  for  the  greater  part  of  the  English 
nation  religion  did,  after  its  fashion,  what  in  Germany, 
with  her  authoritative  Churches,  was  done  by  philosophy 
— that  is,  it  provided  the  ethical  justification  of  the 
struggle  against  the  powers  of  authority ;  and  that 
religion,  to  a  people  which  has  won  it  for  itself,  is  some¬ 
thing  very  different  from  what  it  is  to  a  people  to  whom 
it  has  been  dictated  from  above. 

The  cohesive  power  of  a  Free  Church  makes  greater 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


269 


claims  upon  its  members'  sense  of  duty  than  does  adher¬ 
ence  to  a  State-imposed  Church.  This  is  one  of  the 
reasons  why  the  union  of  political  Radicalism  with 
religious  austerity  is  so  often  met  with  in  England. 
When  in  addition  one  learns  that  the  Free  Churches  draw 
their  adherents  principally  from  the  lower  strata  of 
society,  one  understands  why  it  is  that  so  large  a  per¬ 
centage  of  English  Labour  leaders  have  been  drawn 
from  the  dissenting  sects,  and  have  introduced  something 
of  their  spirit  into  the  Labour  movement. 

This  spirit  not  seldom  appears  in  their  rhetoric. 
At  the  meetings  which  I  have  attended  in  England,  I 
have  received  the  impression  that  the  average  speaker 
at  these  meetings  is  in  various  respects  superior  to  our 
German  speakers.  This  may  be  partly  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  English  language  has  remained  more  colloquial 
than  the  German.  The  direct  form  of  address  and  the 
more  concise  form  of  the  verb  consequent  thereon  gives 
the  language  a  directness  and  a  natural  power  of  ex¬ 
pression  the  want  of  which  is  often  felt  in  German. 
Moreover,  the  development  of  the  language  from  two 
great  root  languages,  Germanic  and  Latin,  affords  the 
possibility  of  verbal  contrasts  and  harmonies  which  are 
also  lacking  in  German.  Further,  centuries  of  Parlia¬ 
mentarism  and  public  agitation  have  made  large 
sections  of  the  population  familiar  with  the  various 
turns  of  speech  by  means  of  which  an  address  can  readily 
be  sustained  in  a  given  tone  ;  and  lastly,  German 
possesses  neither  the  abundance  of  historical  allusion 
which  even  the  popular  speaker  has  at  his  disposal  in 
English,  nor  the  wealth  of  imagery  to  which  the  Puritan 
movement  has  contributed  to  no  small  degree,  with  its 
return  to  the  warlike  pages  of  the  Old  Testament.  The 
effect  of  all  these  factors  taken  together  is  that  English 
working  men  have  a  much  more  plastic  and  facile  means 
of  self-expression  than  their  German  comrades,  who  are 


270 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


so  often  so  superior  to  them  in  the  matter  of  educa¬ 
tion. 

In  Germany  it  has  struck  me  how  often  even  the  few 
words  which  the  chairman  needs  to  utter  at  the  opening 
and  conclusion  of  a  meeting  occur  to  him  with  evident 
difficulty,  so  that  he  looks  like  a  man  redeemed  once 
he  has  reeled  off  the  stereotyped  formulae.  In  England 
a  chairman  seldom  opens  a  meeting  without  a  brief 
introductory  address,  in  which  he  tells  his  audience 
various  things  about  the  importance  of  the  subject 
under  consideration,  and  makes  all  sorts  of  compli¬ 
mentary  remarks  about  the  speaker  or  speakers.  Hence 
it  is  the  custom,  when  announcing  large  meetings,  to 
mention  the  name  not  only  of  the  prospective  speaker, 
but  also  that  of  the  chairman.  The  chairman  is  regarded, 
as  is  the  Speaker  in  the  House  of  Commons,  not  only  as 
the  person  in  control  of  the  meeting,  but  as  standing 
in  close  intellectual  relation  to  it.  Hence  during  the 
course  of  the  meeting  the  speaker  will  occasionally 
turn  to  the  chairman  as  though  the  meeting  were  con¬ 
centred  in  his  person  ;  and  this  change  of  address  on  the 
part  of  the  speaker  enhances  the  effect  of  his  delivery, 
and  thereby  increases  his  power  of  influencing  his 
audience. 

Indispensable  to  any  popular  speaker  in  England  are 
the  gift  of  humour  and  the  power  of  repartee.  The  man 
who  has  not  a  good  store  of  humour  at  his  disposal  is 
lost  as  a  popular  speaker.  To  interrupt  the  speaker  is 
regarded  as  the  inalienable  right  of  every  free-born 
Briton,  and  to  bowl  out  the  interrupter  with  a  witty 
rejoinder  is  almost  obligatory  upon  the  speaker.  Most 
people  listen  to  the  speeches  of  the  agitators  who  hold 
forth  at  street  corners  or  in  the  parks  in  the  hope  of 
deriving  amusement  from  the  interruptions  and  re¬ 
joinders,  and  the  skill  of  the  agitator  is  displayed  by  the 
manner  in  which  he  incites  his  hearers  to  take  exception 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


271 


to  his  statements,  until  he  has  collected  and  interested 
a  sufficient  number  of  hearers  to  enable  him  to  begin  his 
real  speech,  his  heart-to-heart  talk,  with  some  prospect 
of  success.  In  this  respect  his  opponents  are  not  selected 
by  hazard,  for  the  stump  agitator  not  infrequently 
appoints  them  himself.  Needless  to  say,  the  public 
must  not  be  allowed  to  guess  that  they  are  witnessing 
a  preconcerted  game,  or  the  effect  would  be  ruined. 
There  is  a  literature  of  political  repartees,  many  of 
which  are  really  extremely  witty.  One  which  struck 
me  particularly  was  the  reply  which  Lord  George 
Bentinck,  the  friend  of  Disraeli,  made  to  a  voter  who, 
when  Bentinck  observed,  in  the  course  of  his  electoral 
address  :  “  So  I  sincerely  hope,  worthy  fellow-citizens, 
that  you  will  give  me  your  votes/’  interrupted  him  by 
the  exclamation:  “Rather  to  the  Devil!  ”  Bentinck, 
who  had  his  wits  about  him,  retorted  :  “  But  I  presume 
your  friend  is  not  a  candidate  ?  ”  and  the  laugh  was 
on  his  side. 

The  author  of  Statesmen  Past  and  Future  tells 
of  a  passage  of  arms  between  John  Burns  and  the 
influential  Conservative  member,  James  Lowther,  who 
was  annoyed  by  the  contemptuous  manner  in  which 
Burns  treated  his  opponents  in  his  first  Parliamentary 
speeches. 

"  The  honourable  member  is  not  at  the  London 
County  Council,”  remarked  Mr.  Lowther,  with  a  greater 
approach  to  a  dignified  bearing.  “  And  the  right 
honourable  gentleman  is  not  on  Newmarket  Heath,” 
was  the  prompt  reply,  which  permitted  of  no  rejoinder, 
or  at  all  events  received  none.  Since  then  Mr.  Burns 
has  not  been  interrupted.  Newmarket  Heath  is,  of 
course,  one  of  the  most  important  of  English  race¬ 
courses,  and  Mr.  Lowther  is  a  mighty  sportsman  before 
the  Lord. 

Keir  Hardie,  who  was  elected  to  Parliament  in 


272 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


1892,  at  the  same  time  as  John  Burns,  made  his  first 
appearance  in  the  House  of  Commons  something  of  a 
demonstration.  He  drove  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  accompanied  by  a  few  of  his 
comrades,  not  in  a  cab,  but  in  a  proletarian  cart,  and 
entered  the  House  in  an  everyday  suit,  a  cloth  cap  on 
his  head.  This  was  intended  for  an  outward  mani¬ 
festation  of  the  inexorable  hostility  to  all  middle-class 
parties  which  Keir  Hardie,  during  his  election  campaign, 
had  inscribed  upon  his  banner.  However,  this  sartorial 
demonstration  did  not  produce  the  expected  impression, 
and  was  not  repeated.  Nevertheless,  it  was  really 
symbolical  of  Keir  Hardie’s  entrance  into  Parliament. 
The  class  viewpoint  of  the  Socialist  Labour  representa¬ 
tive  had  never  been  represented  in  the  House  of 
Commons  in  a  more  blunt  and  direct  manner  than  by 
Keir  Hardie,  and  his  Parliamentary  tactics  were  sharply 
differentiated  from  those  of  John  Burns,  who  had  until 
then  been  on  terms  of  friendship  with  him.  While 
Burns,  in  the  various  divisions  between  Liberals  and 
Conservatives,  voted  on  principle  with  the  Liberals, 
Keir  Hardie  acted  upon  the  idea  that  the  Socialist  must 
not  only  refuse  to  differentiate  between  bourgeois  parties, 
but  must  continually  vote  against  the  party  which  is 
in  power,  quite  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  he  may  for 
the  time  being  stand  in  dangerous  proximity  to  the 
Tories.  This  tactical  antithesis  gave  rise  at  the 
time  to  very  violent  journalistic  feuds,  which  became 
markedly  personal.  In  the  Labour  Leader,  edited  by 
Keir  Hardie,  John  Burns  was  contemned  as  a  sycophant 
or  lackey  of  the  Liberals,  and  in  those  newspapers 
which  supported  Burns  it  was  pretty  plainly  hinted 
that  Keir  Hardie  or  those  who  stood  behind  him  must 
be  secret  agents  of  the  Tories.  The  fall  of  Rosebery’s 
Liberal  Ministry  in  1895  made  this  quarrel  pointless, 
inasmuch  as  after  the  following  General  Election  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


273 


Conservative  Unionist  Coalition  took  the  helm.  Keir 
Hardie  lost  his  own  seat  to  a  representative  of  this 
coalition,  and  Burns,  who  was  re-elected,  sat  at  atten¬ 
tion  on  the  Opposition  benches.  The  1900  Election 
brought  Keir  Hardie  back  to  Parliament,  where,  since 
the  Conservatives  were  still  at  the  helm,  he  was  now 
a  political  neighbour  of  John  Burns.  This  assuaged 
their  personal  enmity,  and  when  in  1905  the  Liberals 
once  more  took  office  and  Burns  entered  the  Cabinet, 
so  that  he,  looking  from  the  Ministerial  benches,  saw 
Keir  Hardie  opposite  to  him,  the  political  relations  of 
the  two  men  were  so  completely  changed  that  they 
entirely  swamped  their  personal  relations. 

But  the  question  of  political  tactics  which  had 
arisen  between  them  was  not  of  course  dependent  upon 
personality,  so  that  it  continued  to  make  itself  felt.  In 
the  last  resort  it  is  the  eternal  conflict  between  the 
absolute  and  the  relative  method,  which  reveals  itself 
in  its  countless  modifications  throughout  the  history  of 
the  human  race,  in  religion  as  in  politics,  a  constant 
source  of  intellectual  estrangement.  Absolutism  is  in 
this  connection  only  another  word  for  Radicalism — 
that  is,  the  rejection  of  compromise,  the  rigid  considera¬ 
tion  of  questions  from  a  strictly  limited  point  of  view, 
whether  they  concerned  the  omnipotence  of  a  dynasty, 
the  rule  of  an  oligarchy  or  of  the  multitude,  the  interests 
of  the  different  classes,  the  validity  of  a  dogma,  or  the 
principles  of  ethics.  But  for  relativism  one  might  just 
as  well  say  Liberalism,  inasmuch  as  this  conception 
does  not  denote  a  party,  but  the  tendency  to  toleration 
or  mediation,  which  means,  if  it  be  abused,  vagueness, 
eagerness  to  compromise,  and  opportunism.  Important 
as  it  is  to  the  champions  of  the  working  class,  as  the 
lowest  and  politically  and  socially  the  most  backward 
class,  to  conceive  their  struggle  in  an  absolute  sense* 
yet  throughout  the  entire  history  of  the  English  Labour 
18 


274 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


movement  there  may  be  noted,  together  with  the  stream 
of  Radical  tendencies,  and  even  in  opposition  to  them, 
such  of  the  advocates  of  a  policy  of  arrangement 
with  the  bourgeois  parties  as  have,  on  the  one  hand, 
a  more  or  less  definite  conception  of  the  course  of 
social  evolution,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  an  estimate 
of  the  existing  proportion  of  political  forces,  or  the 
attitude  assumed  toward  certain  considerations  arising 
out  of  the  problems  of  the  moment.  Every  reader  of 
the  German  newspapers  knows  how  this  opposition, 
even  to-day,  during  the  war,  is  once  more  dividing  the 
Labour  movement  in  England. 

When  I  arrived  in  England  the  Socialist  movement 
was  still  opposed  to  the  Labour  movement,  almost 
everywhere  breaking  away  from  its  recognised  leaders. 
The  more  influential  of  these  leaders  were  followers  or 
allies  of  the  Liberal  Party,  and  since  the  Socialists,  for 
reasons  which  are  easily  understood,  loosed  their  critical 
shafts  principally  against  this  party,  this  in  itself  caused 
the  Labour  leaders  to  regard  them  with  hostile  glances. 
They  did  not  attempt  any  theoretical  refutation  of  the 
Socialist  doctrine.  They  rejected  it,  pointing  to  the 
fate  of  the  earlier  Socialist  movement  in  England,  as 
an  unpractical  speculation,  which  only  led  the  workers 
astray.  And  now,  by  the  more  hot-blooded  of  the 
Socialist  propagandists,  they  were  stigmatised  in  their 
turn  as  the  representatives  of  the  interests  of  the  middle 
classes :  hence  the  inference  was  drawn  abroad  that 
they  had  allowed  themselves  to  be  lured  away  by  material 
profit.  Even  to  me  the  Trade  Union  leaders  of  those 
days  were  described  as  being  “bought”;  however, 
a  more  exact  knowledge  of  the  movement  and  its  course 
of  development  taught  me  that  the  alliance  of  the 
Labour  leaders  with  the  Liberals  was  the  natural  con¬ 
sequence  of  the  failure  of  earlier  Socialist  movements, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  hand  of  the  inherited 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


275 


peculiarities  of  the  English  party  spirit,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  English  electoral  system  established  by  the  con¬ 
test  between  the  two  great  parties.  The  great  defeats 
of  the  earlier  movements  had  destroyed  all  faith  in  the 
political  power  of  the  working  classes  acting  by  them¬ 
selves,  and  in  their  leaders  it  begat  that  scepticism 
which  is  the  mother  of  opportunism.  Those  of  them 
with  whom  I  personally  have  come  into  contact  im¬ 
pressed  me  as  being  by  no  means  unintelligent  or  lacking 
in  a  certain  degree  of  class-consciousness,  but  they  had 
become  accustomed,  and  even  regarded  it  as  their 
duty  as  Labour  leaders,  to  keep  their  eyes  fixed  upon 
whatever  could  be  immediately  secured  by  fighting  for 
it.  Their  defect  was  that  they  had  not  a  large  Labour 
Party  at  their  backs. 

Their  task,  therefore,  was  to  induce  English  working 
men  to  form  such  a  party.  How  difficult  a  task  this 
was  I  have  been  able  to  convince  myself  by  occasional 
conversations  with  working  men.  A  working  man  of 
more  than  average  intelligence  with  whom  I  had  become 
acquainted,  as  he  had  an  allotment  near  my  house, 
where  he  used  to  work,  replied  to  my  question  why  he 
did  not  join  the  Socialist  movement :  “I  have  over  and 
over  again  heard  Socialist  lectures,  and  I  don't  deny 
that  there  is  a  great  deal  in  the  Socialist  doctrine  that  is 
good  and  true.  But  there's  too  much  imagination  about 
the  Socialists  for  me  :  if  I  join  the  movement  I  shall 
have  to  take  part  in  all  the  stupidities  they  hatch  out, 
and  I  don’t  feel  inclined  to  do  so. ' '  That  might  have  been 
the  excuse  of  a  Philistine,  but  it  was  not ;  for  the  man 
was  a  member  of  a  Trade  Union,  and  as  such,  as  I  con¬ 
vinced  myself  upon  further  intercourse  with  him,  he 
was  thoroughly  loyal  and  ready  to  make  sacrifices,  and 
displayed,  in  connection  with  the  election  of  Labour 
candidates  to  different  representative  bodies,  all  the 
qualities  which  in  Germany  are  regarded  as  the  preroga- 


276 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


tive  of  the  class-conscious  worker.  Undoubtedly  many 
English  working  men  thought  as  he  did.  What  he 
lacked  was  faith  in  the  solidity  of  the  Socialist  move¬ 
ment  ;  for  to  understand  the  Socialist  message  is  by  no 
means  too  difficult  for  a  working  man  of  any  intelligence. 

The  intellectual  difference  between  the  German  and 
the  English  workers  cannot  be  attributed  to  difference 
of  temperament.  So  far  as  can  be  determined  it  results 
from  a  different  history  and  different  conditions  of  life. 
The  English  and  the  German  Labour  movements  have 
taken  different  directions.  The  English  movement 
came  into  existence  earlier  than  the  German,  it  had  no 
model  upon  which  it  could  form  itself,  it  had  not  the 
advantages  which  proceed  from  universal  elementary 
education  ;  but  it  was  also  free  from  the  political  op¬ 
pression  which  has  long  burdened  the  German  movement, 
and  has  forced  it  into  assuming  different  forms.  The 
relation  of  the  English  Labour  movement  to  the  German 
may  be  compared  with  that  of  a  primeval  forest  to  an 
orderly  plantation  laid  out  upon  virgin  soil.  It  still 
lacks  many  advantages  which  a  preconcerted  system 
would  ensure,  and  is  hampered  by  many  excrescences 
of  early  development.  Yet  it  is  for  these  reasons  less 
governed  by  the  tendency  to  standardise  mentalities, 
and  it  gives  free  play  to  personality  and  creative  work. 
In  the  English  working  men  with  whom  I  have  had  the 
opportunity  of  conversing,  I  have  found  less  inclination 
to  think  according  to  programme  than  one  meets  with 
in  the  German  working-class  Socialists,  though  they 
certainly  have  no  less  ideology.  But  the  ideology  of  the 
English  worker  is  not  the  same  as  that  of  his  German 
comrade. 

We  are  too  ready  to  forget — if  we  have  ever  thought 
about  the  matter — that  ideologies  do  not  fly  down  from 
heaven  ;  they  are  historical  phenomena  which  originate 
in  given  conditions  and  alter  with  these  conditions. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


277 


German  writers  and  speakers  are  always  fond  of  praising 
Germany  as  the  land  of  idealism,  and  the  German  nation 
is  represented  as  surpassing  all  other  nations  in  idealistic 
thought  and  feeling.  But  the  time  has  gone  by  when 
this  could  justly  be  said.  German  idealism,  as  an  in¬ 
dividual  possession,  reached  its  finest  and  hardiest  growth 
when  there  was  a  German  people,  but  no  German 
Empire.  Since  the  foundation  of  the  new  Empire  it 
has,  we  must  unhappily  admit,  withered  from  year  to 
year,  and  is  to-day  a  barren  tree  in  which  we  shall  seek 
in  vain  for  living  sap.  Unprejudiced  foreigners  have 
long  been  aware  of  this.  An  Englishman  who  is  assuredly 
no  enemy  of  Germany,  but,  on  the  contrary,  resigned  his 
office  as  Minister  on  the  eve  of  the  declaration  of  war, 
because  he  was  unwilling  to  take  any  part  in  it — John 
Morley — in  the  nineties,  in  a  review  of  national  psycho¬ 
logy,  had  already  written  on  the  chilling  lack  of  idealism 
which  constitutes  the  basis  of  the  more  recent  German 
literature.  It  had  always  been  believed  that  what 
the  middle  classes  of  Germany  had  lost  had  found  a  home 
among  the  working  classes.  But  the  war  has  destroyed 
this  belief.  The  German  worker  has  shown  few  signs  of 
a  loftier  idealism  than  that  of  the  workers  of  other 
countries. 

The  English  working  man  has,  as  a  rule,  had  less 
education  hitherto  than  his  German  comrade.  This 
fact,  and  the  circumstance  that  he  lives,  as  an  islander, 
without  that  intercourse  with  other  nations  which  has 
such  fruitful  results  in  Central  Europe,  explains  much  in 
his  behaviour  which  is  apt  at  first  to  repel  the  foreigner. 
He  lacks  a  certain  Continental  polish.  Although  his 
country  enjoyed  the  culture  of  the  capitalist  period 
earlier  than  Germany,  he  is  in  many  respects  a  barbarian 
when  compared  with  the  German  worker.  But  he  has 
the  virtues  of  a  barbarian.  “  If  you  ever  get  into  a 
hand-to-hand  fight  with  any  one,”  I  was  told,  when  I 


278 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


first  came  to  England,  by  a  German  friend  of  the  same 
political  views  as  myself,  who  had  been  living  a  long  time 
in  England,  and  knew  the  country  and  its  people  well — 

“  if  you  ever  get  into  a  fight,  the  best  thing  to  do,  if 
you  can’t  get  the  better  of  your  opponent,  is  to  let  him 
knock  you  down.  As  long  as  you  keep  your  feet  no  one 
will  interfere.  But  any  one  who  touched  a  man  who  was 
lying  on  the  ground  would  be  set  upon  by  the  people.” 

I  never  had  occasion  to  test  this  in  my  own  person,  and 
I  have  seldom  enough  been  an  eye-witness  of  a  fight. 
But  what  I  have  seen  of  such  matters,  and  what  I  have 
observed  of  the  life  of  the  people,  has  confirmed  my 
friend’s  judgment.  As  an  employer  of  English  workers 
I  have  always  found  them  reliable  and  accessible  to 
reasonable  treatment.  For  reasons  arising  out  of  my 
circumstances,  I  had  fairly  often  to  remove  from  one 
home  to  another  while  in  London,  and  furniture  re¬ 
movers  are  not  usually  the  gentlest  of  men.  But  as 
regards  the  handling  of  my  things  I  always  had  cause  to 
be  very  well  pleased  with  them  in  England,  and  I  have 
never  been  subsequently  overcharged  as  I  have  been 
elsewhere.  What  was  agreed  upon  was  adhered  to. 
Of  the  English  working  man  as  a  factory  hand  or  a 
craftsman,  I  have  no  personal  knowledge.  When  the 
Times  once  complained  of  the  decreased  output  in  the 
building  trade  I  asked  my  landlord,  who  was  a  master- 
mason,  what  he  had  to  say  to  it.  “  Bosh  !  ”  was  his 
laconic  reply.  Things  may  therefore  not  have  been  so 
bad  as  the  Thunderer  represented  them.  As  Trade 
Unionists  the  English  workers  have  often  disappointed 
their  Continental  comrades,  inasmuch  as  when  they  have 
been  appealed  to  for  assistance  during  a  strike  their 
contributions  have  been  so  greatly  inferior  to  the  ex¬ 
pectations  founded  upon  their  ability  to  help.  This 
however,  is  almost  entirely  due  to  the  bureaucratic 
spirit  of  their  Trade  Union  rules ;  personally,  the  English 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


27  9 

working  man  is  always  ready  to  offer  assistance  as  soon 
as  an  appeal  is  made  to  his  emotional  side.  What  I 
call  his  barbarousness,  the  streak  of  primordial  in¬ 
genuousness  in  his  character,  displays  itself  even  in 
his  readiness  to  allow  himself  to  be  influenced. 

But  this  is  a  peculiarity  which  is  not  lacking  in  other 
classes  of  the  English  people  :  indeed,  it  may  be  called  a 
national  characteristic  of  the  Englishman.  Even  in  the 
members  of  the  upper  classes  we  may  note  a  certain 
lack  of  balance.  Side  by  side  with  the  characteristics 
of  a  very  high  civilisation  we  may  observe  remnants 
of  a  primitive  stage  of  culture  which  form  a  remarkable 
contrast  to  them.  The  self-discipline  of  the  cultured 
Englishman  has  been  developed  to  a  degree  hardly  to  be 
seen  elsewhere  ;  but  it  is  capable,  when  once  it  breaks 
down,  of  giving  place  to  an  extravagance  which  is 
likewise  almost  unique.  A  great  deal  in  the  novels  of 
Charles  Dickens,  which  to  the  German  reader  seems 
boundless  exaggeration,  strikes  us  as  less  unfamiliar 
when  we  have  lived  for  some  time  in  England.  Dickens 
is  in  most  things  an  excellent  interpreter  of  English 
life.  He  scourges  its  weaknesses  with  a  mastery  of  his 
art  which  won  for  him  even  the  admiration  of  Karl 
Marx,  and  made  him  the  favourite  novelist  of  such  a 
man  as  William  Morris  ;  but  he  familiarises  us  with  its 
lovable  qualities  as  well. 

The  fact  that  melodrama  still  plays  so  great  a  part 
on  the  English  stage  has  been  the  subject  of  much 
derision  ;  and  it  is  certainly  not  a  sign  of  high  require¬ 
ments  in  the  matter  of  intellectual  entertainment.  But 
the  cult  of  courage  in  danger  and  distress,  which  is 
almost  always  the  keynote  of  melodrama,  has  never¬ 
theless  its  good  side.  The  talk  of  English  prudery 
which  is  so  usual  in  Germany  has  struck  me,  so  far  as 
my  observations  go,  as  greatly  exaggerated.  In  many 
respects  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  is  subjected  to  less 


280 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


restraint  than  with  us.  But  undoubtedly  sexual  matters 
play  a  much  more  modest  part  in  conversation  and  on 
the  stage  than  is  the  case  on  the  Continent.  Whether 
this  is  a  great  disadvantage  is  as  yet  not  very  clear. 

In  general  the  Englishman  is  more  reserved  as 
regards  personal  intercourse  than  the  Frenchman, 
German,  or  Italian  ;  for  which  the  different  climate, 
and  the  almost  universal  custom  of  living  in  detached 
or  at  least  private  houses  are  to  a  great  extent  responsible. 
This  reserve  does  not  necessarily  mean  coldness  and 
want  of  sympathy  :  it  is  quite  compatible  with  living 
on  good  terms  with  one’s  friends  and  neighbours.  For 
a  long  time  political  and  personal  associations  made  my 
exile  from  home  and  Fatherland  hard  to  endure,  and  for 
these  reasons  it  was  years  before  my  wife  and  I  became 
acclimatised  in  London.  But  when  one  day  I  was  told  : 
“You  are  free  to  return  to  Germany  ” — and  owing 
to  the  nature  of  my  political  situation  the  permit  was 
in  itself  a  categorical  imperative — the  first  emotion 
that  came  over  us  was  less  joy  than  dismay,  and  the 
subsequent  farewell  to  London  was  truly  grievous  to 
both  of  us. 

•  •••«•• 

Even  in  our  age  of  continual  traffic  the  nations  are 
only  just  beginning  to  know  one  another  a  little.  It  is 
only  a  small  minority  that  pays  more  than  a  fleeting 
visit  to  foreign  countries,  and  what  a  small  percentage 
of  this  minority  takes  the  pains  or  has  the  capacity  to 
understand  the  foreigners  in  whose  country  they  are 
travelling  !  Most  of  the  opinions  acquired  are  based  on 
an  insufficient  knowledge  of  the  mentality  of  the  people 
concerned  ;  yet  to  form  a  correct  estimation  of  its 
customs  and  institutions,  a  knowledge  of  its  history 
and  its  development  is  almost  more  important  than  a 
knowledge  of  its  language.  Every  one  is  liable  to  be 
misled,  in  comparing  foreign  with  domestic  manners  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


281 


customs,  by  attributing  an  exaggerated  importance 
to  impressions  based  upon  insufficient  experience,  and 
by  generalising  therefrom.  Hence  the  contradictory 
statements  to  be  found  in  literature  and  in  the  opinions 
which  one  nation  holds  of  another. 

I  have  tried  as  far  as  possible  to  avoid  these  defects, 
and  to  make  remarks  which  pretend  to  be  more  than  the 
mere  reproduction  of  impressions  only  when  they  can  be 
supported  by  diligent  observation.  The  general  opinion 
which  I  have  acquired  during  my  sojourn  abroad,  which 
lasted  more  than  twenty  years,  is  that  those  national 
characteristics  which  one  is  accustomed,  in  conformity 
with  the  traditional  phraseology,  to  represent  as  national 
peculiarities,  are,  in  the  case  of  the  more  advanced 
nations  of  civilised  Europe,  losing  force  owing  to  the 
reaction  of  their  common  civilisation  upon  their  social 
life.  There  are  such  distinctive  characteristics,  but 
they  are  national  only  in  so  far  as  they  spring  from  great 
climatic  differences  or  have  their  roots  in  the  peculiar 
historical  evolution  of  the  various  nations  ;  hence  they 
tend  to  diminish  as  the  economic  foundations  of  the 
cultural  life  of  the  different  nations  approximate.  Such 
peculiarities  as  escape  this  process  of  approximation 
often  differ  more  perceptibly  between  different  pro¬ 
vinces  of  the  same  country  than  between  nation  and 
nation,  and  persist  most  obstinately,  as  is  generally 
recognised,  for  reasons  which  are  plainly  evident,  in  the 
rural  populations,  while  in  the  industrial  proletariat  the 
similarity  of  work  and  of  the  conditions  of  work  almost 
completely  extinguish  national  distinctions. 

Generally  speaking,  I  think  I  may  say  that  to  gain 
an  impartial  opinion  of  a  people  one  should  see  it  at  home. 
Torn  away  from  their  home  surroundings,  many  people 
do  not  at  once  develop  the  best  social  characteristics, 
especially  if  they  settle  down  abroad  in  separate  groups 
or  communities.  At  home  all  may  have  their  particular 


282 


MY  YEARS  OF  EXILE 


defects,  and  rub  their  corners  off  on  one  another.  But 
T2U:  generations  of  collective  life  as  a  nation  give  all  a  common 

{ conception  of  rights  and  duties,  a  mutual  respect  and 
*T  understanding,  which  protect  the  life  of  the  community 

from  the  defects  of  the  individual  and  the  reaction  of 
individual  disputes,  and  give  it  its  definite  character. 
As  far  as  has  been  possible  I  have  always  endeavoured 
to  inquire  into  this  side  of  national  life,  and  I  can  say, 
faux+eei'*, with  full  conviction,  that  I  have  never  been  disenchanted. 

T-tgZZ-V5^' 


The  End 


INDEX 


Abstainers  in  England,  208-9. 
Agents  provocateurs,  German, 

1 1 6-8. 

Airolo,  23-4. 

Altdorf,  14. 

Anti-Socialist  Laws,  see  Excep¬ 
tional  Legislation. 
Arbeiterstimme,  Die,  104. 

Arc6s,  M.  d’,  44,  48-9,  79. 

—  Madame  d’,  49. 

Aristocrat,  a  Berne,  100-1. 

Arms  and  the  Man,  229. 

Asquith,  Right  Hon.  H.  H.,  260. 
Assassination,  attempted,  of 

Wilhelm  1.,  20. 

Auer,  128,  134,  135,  137. 

August  1914,  238,  245. 

Aveling,  Edward,  160-3,  171,  200, 
202-3,  226. 

—  Eleanor  Marx-,  see  Marx- 

Aveling. 

Avenarius,  Richard,  60. 

Axelrod,  Paul,  m,  219. 

Bakunin,  42. 

Balfour,  Right  Hon.  A.  J.,  259. 
Bathing  at  Eastbourne,  188-90. 
Bax,  Belfort,  200-1 . 

Bebel,  August,  96,  104,  106, 

107-8,  1 1 2,  125,  128,  137, 
139,  150,  I5I>  I53>  156,  I57» 
159,  I7°- 

Belli,  Joseph,  106. 

Bellinzona,  24. 

Berlin,  Congress  of,  19. 

—  dialect,  266. 

Bernstein,  Eduard,  starts  for 
Lugano,  9  ;  leaves  for  Zurich, 
69  ;  editor  of  Sozialdemokrat, 
124  ;  flies  from  Denmark  via 
England,  134,  137-9  ;  ban¬ 
ished  from  Switzerland,  143; 
visits  to  and  life  in  London, 
150  et  seq. 

—  Mrs.,  184,  247-8. 

Berry,  Rev.,  235-6. 


Beust,  von,  89-90,  114. 

Bismarck,  141,  144,  146. 

Black  Virgin,  the,  62. 

Bland,  Hubert,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  203. 

“  Bog,”  the,  at  Zurich,  75-6. 
Bonnier,  Charles,  213-4. 
Boulanger,  General,  120. 
Bradlaugh,  231,  235. 

“  Bray,  the  Vicar  of,”  Engels’ 
German  version  of,  194-5. 
Broadhurst,  Henry,  171. 

Bucher,  Lothar,  136. 

Buchner,  Dr.  Ludwig,  46. 
Buchner’s  grave,  70. 

Bulgarians  in  Zurich,  no. 
Bundesrat,  the  Swiss,  banishes 
the  staff  of  the  Sozialdemokrat, 
1 43-4- 

Biirkli,  Karl,  93-4,  98,  107,  108. 
Burns,  John,  173,  207-9,  257-64, 
271,  272-3. 

> 

Cabet,  Etienne,  93. 

Cafiero,  Carlo,  38. 

Candida  in  Germany,  230. 

*'  Casa  in  Valle,”  44-5,  54,  62,  66, 
67.  79- 

Cassarate,  44. 

Castagnola,  life  in,  44-53  ;  winter 
in,  54-68. 

Cenere,  Monte,  24-6. 

“  Chamber  of  Rustics,”  the,  42. 
Chamberlain,  Right  Hon.  Joseph, 

259. 

Champion,  H.  H.,  208. 

Chartism,  222. 

Chronicle,  the  Daily,  252,  263. 
Clerical  Party  in  Ticino,  37. 
Cockney  dialect,  the,  265-6. 
Commune,  the  Paris,  42. 
Communist  Manifesto,  the,  151. 
Congress  of  1880  (Schloss  Wyden), 
128-33. 

— 1883  (Copenhagen)  133-7  ; 
trial  of  delegates  to,  140. 

,  —  1887  (St.  Gallen),  141. 

■2?>3 


284 


INDEX 


Congresses,  the  Social  Democratic, 
127-8. 

Consid6rant,  Victor,  93. 

Copenhagen,  Congress  of  and  visit 
to,  133-7- 

—  police  discover  the  Congress, 

134-6. 

Curti,  Theodor,  78,  83,  85-7. 

Dancing  at  Castagnola,  50-1. 

Dearmer,  the  Rev.  Percy,  233. 

Democratic  Party  of  Zurich 
Canton,  80-1. 

Demuth,  Frederick,  163,  164,  165. 

—  Lenchen,  163,  169. 

Deutsch,  Leo,  111-2. 

Devil’s  Bridge,  the,  16-8,  20-1. 

Dickens,  Charles,  279. 

Doctor's  Dilemma,  The,  162. 

Dodel-Port,  Professor  A.,  145. 

Dramatic  entertainments,  51. 

“  Dubedat,”  162-3. 

“  —  Mrs.”,  162-3. 

Dwelling-houses,  English,  177-9, 
198-9. 

Eastbourne,  187-92. 

Ehrenberg,  von,  1 19-21. 

Empire,  the  Third,  fall  of,  41. 

Engels,  Friedrich,  126,  138,  150  ; 
meeting  with,  151-4,  158, 

159,  162,  166,  167  ;  his 

hospitality,  192-3  ;  love  of 
singing,  193-5  \  his  “  even¬ 
ings  ”  (196-220)  ;  Christmas 
in  his  house,  197-8,  209-10  ; 
as  host,  220. 

English  Characteristics  (1 74-1 93). 

—  language,  the,  269-70. 

—  people,  the  lower  middle  classes, 

155  ;  the  working  classes, 
207,  275-6 ;  general  char¬ 
acteristics  of,  279-80. 

“  Exceptional  Legislation  against 
Social  Democracy,”  20,  54-6, 
104-5,  127. 

Expatriation  of  Socialists,  142. 

Fabian  Essays,  The,  230. 

Fabian  Society,  the,  239. 

Fabian  Society,  History  of  the, 
225,  239. 

Fabians,  the,  226. 

Festas  in  Ticino,  52-3. 

Firth,  Professor  E.  H.,  237. 

Fischer,  Captain,  of  Zurich,  145, 
149. 

Flesch,  Dr.  Karl,  10,  66. 


Folia,  La,  of  Milan,  41. 

Four  Cantons,  the  Lake  of  the,  n, 
13- 

France,  pretended  danger  of  war 
with,  142. 

Franco-Prussian  War,  the,  41. 

Frankfurter  Zeitung,  the,  87. 

“  Free  Russia,”  214,  217,  248-9. 

Freiligrath,  Otto,  88,  216. 

Fritsche,  128. 

Garlic  as  an  intoxicant,  40. 

Gazetta  Ticinese,  La,  57. 

Geneva,  67. 

German  secret  police,  116-8, 
1 2 1-2  ;  list  of,  falls  into  the 
hands  of  the  Social  Demo¬ 
crats,  142. 

Germans,  feeling  against  in  Swit¬ 
zerland,  83-4. 

Gessner,  91. 

Glasier,  Bruce,  J.  and  C.,  249. 

Gnocchi-Viani,  Professor  O.,  40. 

Goethe,  18. 

Gotthard,  St.,  Pass  (9-27)  ; 
coach-journey  across,  12  et 
seq.  ;  beauties  of,  16-9  ; 
Suvaroff’s  crossing  of,  19  ; 
closed  by  snow,  57. 

—  St.,  Railway,  10,  14-6. 

Graham,  Cunninghame-,  173. 

Gravesend,  181-4. 

Grein,  J.  T.,  229. 

Greulich,  Hermann,  97-9. 

Grillenberger,  128,  131,  134, 

135. 

Griitliverein  the,  81. 

Guesde,  Jules,  169-70. 

Haldane,  Lord,  258. 

Hancock,  Rev.  Thomas,  236. 

Hardie,  J.  Keir,  265-7,  271-3. 

Hasenclever,  128. 

Hasselmann,  131,  132. 

Headlam,  Rev.  Stewart,  230-1, 
236. 

Heine,  268. 

Herwegh,  Georg,  70,  71. 

Hochberg,  Karl,  9,  27  ;  early 
history  and  character,  45-7  ; 
his  valetudinarianism,  47-8, 
53  5  his  generosity,  58-9  ; 
his  religious  and  philo¬ 
sophical  views,  59-60,  62  ;  as 
propagandist,  63-4 ;  ex¬ 
pelled  from  Berlin,  64-6  ; 
decides  to  leave  Lugano,  66, 
114,  151. 


INDEX 


285 


Hyndman,  H.  M.,  171,  205  ;  re¬ 
lations  with  Marx  and  Engels, 
205-6,  226-7,  255-7. 

I.L.P.,  the,  227. 

I.W.A.,  the,  222. 

Intellectuals,  Socialist,  221-49. 
Internationale,  the,  212. 

—  of  Ziirich,  95-6. 

Irving,  Henry,  190-1. 

Jahrbuch  der  Sozial  wissenschaft 
und  Sozialpolitik,  64,  95-6. 
Janiszevski,  K.,  218. 

Jankovska,  see  Mendelssohn. 
Journal  de  Geneve,  Le,  57. 

Jowett,  F.  W.,  249. 

Karageorgevich,  Prince  Peter,  109. 
Katkov,  Katerina,  43. 

Kautsky,  Karl,  96,  107,  114,  115, 
131- 

Killer,  Gottfried,  112-4. 

Kinkel,  Gottfried,  87-8,  100. 
Kinkels,  Johanna,  216. 
Kongresszeitung,  Die,  13 1-2. 
Kovalevska,  Sonia,  219. 
Kovalevski,  Maxim,  219. 
Kravchinsky,  see  Stepniak. 
Kruger,  Police-Councillor,  137. 
Kulischov,  Anna,  38-9. 

Labour  Party  and  Movement,  the 
English,  274-6. 

Laf argue,  Jenny,  210. 

—  Paul,  210-1. 

Landbote,  the  Hessische,  70. 

—  of  Winterthur,  the,  85. 

Lange,  Friedrich  Albert,  85. 
Lavroff,  Peter,  95. 

“  Law,  John,”  202. 

Leo,  Andre,  42. 

Liberals,  relations  of  the,  to 
Labour,  275-6. 

Liebknecht,  Karl,  124,  126. 

—  Wilhelm,  105,  106,  107,  124-7. 
Lloyd-George,  Right  Hon.  David, 

253- 

Lockroy,  Edward,  146. 

London,  the  Sozialdemokrat  re¬ 
moves  to,  150  ;  exile  in,  150 
et  seq.  ;  houses  in,  154-6  ; 
peculiarities  of  (174-95)  ; 
government  of,  175-6 ;  de¬ 
generation  of  houses  in, 
177-9. 

London  County  Council,  the,  176. 


Longuet,  Charles,  210,  21 1-3. 
Lugano,  9  ;  arrival  at,  27  ;  life  in 
(28-53)  1  thirty  years  ago, 
29-32  ;  to-day,  33  ;  refugees 
in,  33-4  ;  winter  in,  54-68. 
Luggage,  English  method  of  deal¬ 
ing  with,  184-6. 

Macdonald,  J.  Ramsay,  244-7. 

—  Margaret,  244-7. 

Malatesta,  38. 

Malon,  Benoit,  30,  41-4,  52,  115, 

151- 

“  Marchioness,”  the,  49. 
Marionette  theatre,  a,  50-1. 
Marx-Aveling,  Eleanor,  158  ;  her 
‘  ‘  free  marriage  ’  ’  with  Aveling, 
1 60-1  ;  her  suicide,  165  ; 
dramatic  talents,  166,  200, 

209,  2io,  23*,  238. 

Marx,  Jenny,  210. 

— Karl,  86,  148,  150,  154 ;  his 
home,  155-6,  166,  167,  205, 

210,  211,  212. 

Marzotti,  Filippo,  37-40. 
Massingham,  H.  W.,  252. 

Mazzini,  34. 

Mendelssohn  -  Bartholdy,  letter 
from,  18-9. 

Mendelssohn- Jankovska,  M.  and 
Mme.,  217-8. 

Meyer,  Rudolf,  196. 

Michel,  Louise,  247-8. 

Milan,  King,  no. 

Militarism  in  Switzerland,  92-3. 
Military  service,  demand  for  seven 
years',  in  Germany,  141. 
Mittelshofer,  260. 

“  Mohren  Club,”  the,  65. 

—  of  Zurich,  106,  109,  no,  112, 

114. 

Moore,  Sam,  195. 

“  Morell,  Parson,”  230. 

Morley,  John,  233-4,  277. 

Morris,  William,  171,  206-7,  255. 

—  Rev.  William,  231-3. 

Motteler,  Julius,  105-6,  112,  114, 

121,  127,  133.  ‘ 

Mudai,  von,  65. 

Nation,  the,  252,  253. 

National  Liberal  Club,  253-4. 
Nenadovich  brothers,  the,  109. 
News  from  Nowhere,  207. 

Nicolas  of  Montenegro,  109. 
Nobiling,  Dr.,  20. 

Obrenovich,  Milan,  109. 


286 


INDEX 


O’Brien,  W.,  172. 

Obrist,  J.,  1 1 5,  1 16. 

Olivier,  Sidney,  239-40. 

Olten,  Congress  of,  103-4. 

“  Olympus,”  106,  1 1 8. 

O'Shea,  Mrs.,  235. 

Oswald,  Dr.  Eugen,  194. 

P - i,  Signor  Ippolito,  34-7,  56. 

Parnell,  233-5. 

Pease,  Edward,  225,  239,  243,  248. 

—  Marjorie,  248. 

Plebe,  La,  of  Milan,  40. 

Plechanov,  Georg,  hi,  219. 
Powell,  Professor  Yorke,  215. 
Prati,  il  Padre,  61. 

—  Prudenza,  44-8,  50,  54. 
Protestantism  and  Socialism,  267. 
Public  speaking,  in  England, 

270-1. 

Puttkamer,  von,  134,  141. 

Quintessence  of  Socialism,  T he,  by 
SchS-ffle,  63. 

Railways,  Swiss,  81. 
s‘  Red  Postmaster,”  the,  106. 
Reichstag  dissolved,  142. 
Republicano,  II,  of  Lugano,  35, 
56. 

Rote  Teufel,  Der,  146. 

Rosherville,  182-3. 

Ruegg,  Reinhold,  85,  113. 
Russians,  the,  in  Zurich,  95,  1 10-2. 

**  Sachzel&ute,”  74-5,  76. 

Saint  Pancras,  176. 

Saint-Simon,  223. 

San  Stefano,  Peace  of,  19. 
Sassulitsch,  Vera,  attempts 
Trepoff's  life,  39,  in,  219- 
20. 

Saturday  Review,  the,  228,  253. 
Schaffle,  Dr.  A.  E.,  63. 

Schiller,  13,  17,  21. 

Schmidt,  Elias,  115. 

Schnapper- Arndt,  9,  10. 
Schorlemmer,  Professor  K.,  186. 
Schroder,  police-agent,  142. 
Schiirz,  Karl,  87. 

Schweizerische  Handelzeitung,  84. 
Secolo,  II,  57. 

Secret  police,  German,  116-8, 
121-2. 

Serbians  in  ZCrich,  109. 
Serbo-Bulgarian  war,  the  no. 
Shaw,  G.  Bernard,  200-2,  224-30. 
Siege,  minor  state  of,  35. 


Singer,  agent  provocateur,  142-3. 

“  Slavia,”  110-1. 

Smuggling  the  Sozialdemokrat, 
105-6,  118. 

Snakes  in  Ticino,  61. 

Snowden,  Philip,  249. 

Social  Democratic  League,  the, 
42. 

- Party,  the,  20,  35. 

- Party,  the  Swiss,  81. 

- Press,  the,  56-7. 

Socialism  in  England,  207,  222-3, 
249.  275-7. 

Socialisme  Progressif,  Le,  43. 
Socialist  Propaganda  in  England, 
207,  222-3. 

—  Supper  Club,  the,  255. 
Sozialdemokrat,  Der,  foundation 

of,  104  ;  prohibited  in  Ger¬ 
many,  105  ;  smuggling  of, 
105-6,  118,  122-3. 

Spectator,  the,  253. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  204. 
Staatsanzeiger,  nickname  of  the 
Sozialdemokrat,  122. 

Star,  the,  201. 

Stein,  Freiherr  von,  91. 

Stepniak,  214  ;  his  death,  215-6, 
217. 

Stossel,  Regierungsrat,  145. 
Strauss,  David  Friedrich,  102-3. 
Submarine  campaign,  the,  93. 
Suburbs,  London,  176-9. 

Suvaroff,  19. 

Swiss-German  dialect,  78-80,  82, 
95* 

Swiss  people,  the,  83. 

—  Workers'  League,  97,  103-4. 
Switzerland,  political  parties  in 

81  ;  militarism  in,  92. 

Tagwacht,  Die,  97,  104. 

Taur,  von,  84. 

Tell,  Wilhelm,  13. 

Theatre  at  Lugano,  29-30,  51-2. 
Thorne,  Will,  209-10. 

Three-card  trick,  the,  180-1. 
To-day,  200. 

Trafalgar  Square,  riots  in,  1887, 
I7I-3* 

Twain,  Mark,  214. 

Utopians,  221. 

Vahlteich,  128. 

Vogelin,  Professor,  102. 

Vollmar,  Georg  von,  105-15,  154. 
Vorwarts,  252. 


INDEX 


287 


Wallas,  Graham,  237-9. 

Webb,  Beatrice,  241-3. 

—  Sidney,  225,  239-43. 
Weissmann,  August,  204. 

White  Capital  and  Black  Labour, 
240. 

Working  classes,  English,  opposed 
to  Socialism,  207,  274-6  ;  con¬ 
trasted  with  the  German,  276. 

—  Men’s  College,  the,  199. 

Wyden,  Schloss,  128-9,  ,130,  131. 


Zukunft,  Die,  62,  63. 

Zurich,  sudden  departure  for,  68  ; 
life  in  (69-123)  ;  thirty  years 
ago,  70-4  ;  the  old  Concert 
Hall,  71-2  ;  Bernstein  arrives 
at,  74  ;  local  customs,  74-6  ; 
the  old  theatre,  75-6  ;  ban¬ 
ishment  from,  143-9. 

—  dialect,  the,  75,  76-80. 

—  Lake  of,  the,  71-2. 

Ziiricher  Post,  the,  85-6. 


PRINTED  BY 

MORRISON  AND  GIBB  LIMITED 
EDINBURGH 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


URBANA 


30112  075195047 


